


Blood Ties

by mizjoelywhofics



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate ending to Logopolis, F/M, Five/Tegan, Serial: s115 Logopolis, Serial: s116: Castrovalva, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2019-12-26 08:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 61,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizjoelywhofics/pseuds/mizjoelywhofics
Summary: When the Fourth Doctor regenerates into his Fifth incarnation, he runs into problems…only not the problems shown at the end of "Logopolis", all thanks to the Time Lords' ancient enemies, the Giant Vampires. As a result, The Doctor and Tegan are unexpectedly forced into a symbiotic relationship. Could it deepen into something more? And how will this unexpected complication figure into the Master's evil plans?





	1. The Enemy Within

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fanfiction.net 04/13/13

 

The TARDIS in front of them, out of sight but not so far it can't be reached on foot. Adric, lying dead or unconscious on the ground behind them next to the equally dead-or-not Pharos Project guards. The Master's TARDIS practically on top of them, shut tight with the Master still inside with who-knew-what intentions. (Hint: Nothing good.)

The Doctor running, jogging, Nyssa by his side, Tegan in his arms, unconscious. Bleeding from some sort of throat wound. The two of them literally glowing with regenerative energy.

Nyssa, desperate with fear and worry for her two friends, one old, one newly met, tugged on the Doctor's arm. "But what about Adric? We can't just leave him—"

"We have to." The Doctor never even broke stride, never turned to look at her or back toward their fallen comrade. "If he's dead, there's nothing we can do for him. If he's unconscious, then the Master will keep him alive—most likely to try and get to me." His gaze darted down, lingering on Tegan's face before he returned his attention to not tripping on his oversized scarf on the uneven terrain, and Nyssa saw the conflict there, along with—could that possibly be  _guilt_? "Either way, if we don't get back to the TARDIS so her shielding can help stabilize us, Tegan and I will both die."

**One Hour Earlier**

Regeneration. Nyssa had heard of it, the Doctor had even deigned to explain it to her once. As a scientist with specialties in biology and biomechanics, she found the entire process fascinating. The idea of a humanoid life form that could literally rebuild itself after fatal trauma, cell by cell, into another living being with the original memories and something of the original personality intact in the rebuilt brain was as astounding a concept as she'd ever considered.

But nothing the Doctor had told her, none of the research or information he'd allowed her access to, had prepared her for the unnerving situation that was unfolding right before her horrified eyes.

It started with a fall. A simple death, almost anticlimactic after everything they'd gone through to reach this moment in time. A moment, according to the Doctor, that had been "prepared for." The "friend" that had rescued her from Traken shortly before the Master's plans destroyed it; the half-seen Watcher who seemed to haunt their movements on Earth and in Logopolis; both revealed to be one and the same person.

And that person was the Doctor.

How his future self had managed to cross his own timeline in order to help them she wasn't sure; why he didn't appear fully in his regenerated form she had no idea. The white, almost ghostly figure was one she'd seen no references to in the regeneration database the Doctor had given her access to. In fact, she didn't recall reading anything about the moment of a Time Lord's imminent regeneration being "prepared for" in any way at all, let alone by manifestations of the immediate successor aiding and abetting in the matter.

The initial process had seemed almost…peaceful. The Doctor lay on the ground, his body broken and twisted by the fall from the Pharos Project antenna, but his gentle humor still clear in his eyes as he assured his three companions—herself, Tegan Jovanka of Earth and Adric of Alzarius—that all would be well. "The moment has been prepared for," he'd murmured.

Then his gaze had been inexorably drawn to that of the distant figure of the Watcher. Not so distant now; as it reached his side, the form began to lose substance, merging into that of the now-unconscious Doctor, overlaying the substantial image with the ghostly, until they became one and the Doctor's new form was born.

Things had gone rapidly downhill from there.

Instead of the golden burst of energy that Nyssa's research had led her to expect, the Doctor simply shimmered for a moment; watching his two forms, future and present, merge was almost like a seeing a double image transpiring from a blow to the head. At least, that was how Nyssa felt about it. She wasn't to know how the others felt as two things happened very rapidly after that: first, the Pharos Project guards arrived, waving guns and demanding to know what was going on. And second, the Doctor let out a horrific cry of pain as the golden storm of regenerative energy finally burst around his body.

His, and that of Tegan, who was still kneeling by his side after Nyssa and Adric had risen to their feet to try and fend off the approaching guards.

The sudden burst of energy, the blinding golden light, both had stopped the guards in their tracks, but only for a moment. Even as the energy continued to build and grow, even as Tegan's screams joined those tearing from the Doctor's throat, they moved forward. More cautiously, but still forward. Toward them. One of them had raised a small, black rectangle to his mouth, undoubtedly a communications device of some kind—seeking assistance, Nyssa assumed, but for themselves or for the couple who appeared to be burning to death in front of their very eyes?

Either way, Nyssa knew they had no time to waste in dealing with these Humans. They would no doubt treat the time travelers as intruders first, victims in need of medical assistance second. And they would probably try to detain Adric and herself for questioning of the sort neither could give satisfactory answers to.

Fortunately she and Adric were of one mind on this matter. Unfortunately, the Master chose that exact moment to once again wreak havoc among them.

Adric had moved toward the guards, hands upraised, spouting some nonsense about their group being alien intelligences (true enough for three out of the four of them) that had come in answer to the Pharos Project's call (out-and-out lie), although two of their members were currently undergoing "difficulties" (incredible understatement).

"Difficulties" indeed. Difficulties that were exacerbated when the Master's TARDIS materialized, emitting bolts of energy that rendered Adric and the guards unconscious. Or possibly dead. Nyssa had no time to examine them.

Because while she'd had been distracted by the unwelcome chaos, the Doctor's regeneration had apparently completed, since the next thing she knew he—the new "he"—was standing next to her, holding an unconscious—and bleeding—Tegan Jovanka in his arms, urging Nyssa to run, telling her that Tegan's life was at stake and they had no time to spare even for Adric's sake.

Which was where things now stood; Adric possibly in the hands of the Master, he and the Pharos Project guards either dead or unconscious, and she and the Doctor frantically trying to save Tegan's life.

**The Present**

"Nyssa! Hurry, we have to get her to my quarters  _now_!"

Nyssa shook her head to clear away the distracting memories of what had just happened as they stumbled into the TARDIS. He said Tegan was in danger, and she had no doubt about that, having heard the other woman's cries of pain, seeing how pale and drained she looked. She was obviously in shock, no doubt due to the regenerative energy still coursing through her system, but what could have caused the still-bleeding injuries to her neck? It was hard to see them in any detail, but the single glimpse she'd had before the Doctor outpaced her seemed to show a pair of precisely placed puncture wounds directly over the other woman's jugular. Curious and unsettling, but surely the Doctor needed medical detachment and not a fretful companion right now.

Still, she couldn't help asking her next question, since this clearly was some kind of medical emergency. "Shouldn't we bring her to the medical bay?" She'd sped up to match the Doctor's long strides as he dashed down the corridor in a direction she'd never taken before. Presumably toward his private quarters, wherever they might be located in the maze that comprised the TARDIS interior.

"No," he said over his shoulder. Just that. "No." Nyssa was left to grope after a possible explanation as they skidded around another corner. Did he have some sort of equipment in his private quarters designed to deal explicitly with non-Time Lords who were undergoing regenerative trauma? Perhaps this sort of thing had happened before, even if the details had never made it into the database she'd been perusing.

Why hadn't it? She pondered the question as they sped along, concluding that it just wasn't the sort of thing one put into a database meant for public consumption. She hurried after the Doctor. She didn't bother asking him; he didn't seem inclined to conversation at the moment. Nor should he, she chided herself as they careened around another corner and started down a slanting access ramp that presumably led to the next level down. After all, the Doctor had more important things to deal with at the moment.

Such as saving Tegan's life.

Just as she reminded herself of that grim fact, the Doctor came to an abrupt stop. The ramp they'd been descending had leveled out to a short length of dimly lit corridor—wait, were those  _torches_ set into the wall? She gawked a bit at the completely unexpected sight; why in the world would the Doctor use such an archaic—not to mention hazardous—means of lighting anywhere on the TARDIS? It made absolutely no sense.

It didn't help her growing unease as she realized that he, too, seemed put off by the sight of the open flames; he hesitated a moment longer before appearing to shrug it off as he hurried to the door that marked the end of the corridor.

A door that was as archaic, as out of place, as the torches in their black metal sconces.

It was wooden, a dark, smoke-stained wood covered in elaborate carvings and banded on either side with rows of black metal triangles that were stylistically similar to the torch sconces. Even the handle appeared to be made of the same metal

The Doctor hesitated again when they reached it, frowning as if it wasn't what he'd expected to see. Nyssa, stumbling to a stop behind him when he ceased moving, craned her neck to peer past him, then looked up inquiringly. "Did we make a wrong turn? Is this the wrong door?"

"No, it's the correct door," the Doctor responded. His new voice was slightly higher in pitch but otherwise little changed. Another aspect of his regeneration she'd have to get used to. "I believe the TARDIS is just having a little joke at my expense, that's all." He scowled up at the ceiling. "Lovely, I can't wait to see what else you've done with the interior decorating."

Without explaining his curious statements, he shifted Tegan in his arms so that one hand was free. "Shall I open it?" Nyssa asked, stepping forward and reaching out to do so, but he shook his head.

"No. You can't. Isomorphic," was his curt response as he reached out and placed his hand on the handle.

The door swung open at his touch and he shouldered his way into the room. "Hurry, Nyssa, we have to get her out of her clothes!"

She'd come to a dead stop at the threshold; how had the Doctor known to expect his quarters had been altered in their absence from the TARDIS? Because this couldn't possibly be a bedroom he'd chosen for himself, it was far too..too…too  _much_. Too dark, too intense…had he made a mistake after all, were they in the wrong room?

"Nyssa!"

She snapped out of her temporary paralysis to see the Doctor in the process of laying Tegan gently onto the crimson coverlet of the massive, four-poster bed that dominated the room. A room dimly lit only by candle- and fire-light. And a bed so high that it had to be reached by ascending a set of steps on either side…she shook her head and hurried over, hastening up the three steps opposite the ones the Doctor was occupying. She suspected her mind was dwelling on trivialities as a way to avoid thinking about the Doctor's cryptic insistence that Tegan needed to be here, in what he'd definitely identified as his quarters, rather than in the medical bay. Certainly there was no sign of any equipment that might be needed, although there was always the possibility that it was something as easy to tuck away in a drawer as his sonic screwdriver.

He hadn't bothered turning down the counterpane, just placed Tegan on top of it—and was that some kind of  _animal skin_  thrown across the foot of the bed? Suddenly his mutterings about what the TARDIS might have done to his private quarters made a little more sense. It was manifestly clear to her that it must have reconfigured the Doctor's chambers upon his regeneration—although how it had known and why it had done so remained a mystery.

A mystery among many mysteries. "Doctor, why do we have to…" Nyssa's question trailed off as she watched, bemused, while the Doctor began tearing his own clothing off, quite literally ripping his shirt from his body, buttons popping, seams tearing, the oversized scarf thrown willy-nilly to the floor along with hat, jacket, trousers and the rest. Her hand automatically continued to undo Tegan's jacket as she watched, open-mouthed, while the Doctor stripped down to his underclothing—which she averted her eyes just quickly enough to avoid seeing him step out of.

When she looked up again, blushing furiously at her first glimpse of a naked man, he'd jumped up onto the bed and shoved her hands aside.

"Too slow," he muttered. "This is taking too long, we need closer physical contact…Nyssa, be a good girl and go to the nearest pantry—there's one quite close by, make a left when you get to the top of the ramp instead of a right, go about fifty meters or so and you'll find it—and bring back foods that are rich in protein. Also, juice. A large quantity of fruit juice, if you would. She'll need them both when she wakes up."

"Doctor, you have to tell me what you're doing; none of this makes any sense!" she protested, continuing to avert her eyes as the Doctor removed Tegan's clothes almost as rapidly as he'd removed his own—and with as little concern for their future wearability.

"Tegan's undergoing an ancillary regenerative transformation," he snapped. "And no, I don't have time for more detailed explanations, Nyssa. You're just going to have to trust me. Can you do that?"

"What about Adric?" she asked, not quite ready to back down. The Doctor's feverish impatience, his obvious concern for Tegan's health, was the only thing keeping her from stubbornly refusing to do anything else without a detailed explanation as to what, exactly, was going on. Because "ancillary regenerative transformation" meant nothing to her.

"After you bring the supplies, it might be safe enough to do a bit of a reconnoiter, see what you can find out." He still sounded distracted, as if his mind wasn't fully on her question, but he suddenly turned and looked directly at her for the first time since they'd entered the TARDIS. The obvious worry in his eyes did much to quell her growing unease. "We'll save him, Nyssa," he said gently, "Never fear. And yes, it would help if you could see what you can find out. Just try not to let yourself be seen if you can help it—and if you can't, you should still be safe; the Master already has a hostage, he'll have no need to take you as well."

As swiftly as he'd granted her his undivided attention, it was gone. His gaze drawn inexorably back to Tegan, he leaned over her unconscious form, examining the punctures in her neck with a black frown marring his face. "Hm, perhaps it isn't as bad as I…are you still here?" he snapped, suddenly raising his head to glare at Nyssa. "I told you, she'll need the food and the juice when she wakes up, which should be soon." His voice turned uncertain as he added: "I think. Maybe. At any rate, there's nothing more you can do for her and I know it'll set both our minds at ease if you can at least discover if Adric is still alive."

Nyssa found herself nodding agreement even as her mind shied away from the thought that her friend might not have survived his encounter with the Master. It was more likely he'd been taken prisoner, and equally likely that the Master was still here on Earth, working out his next evil scheme.

The thought of being instrumental in foiling any such plots was an enormous incentive; even if Adric weren't involved, anything she could do to stop the man who'd single-handedly destroyed her home world and murdered her father was well worth the risk to her own life.

She'd still prefer to have the Doctor with her, but if he needed to be with Tegan right now, if there was some really good explanation for why he was pulling her into his embrace and nestling his naked body next to hers, holding her very closely against him—aside from the obvious, which was completely inappropriate and clearly not his intent—then Nyssa would do as he asked.

**oOo**

As Nyssa finally nodded and headed out of the bedroom at a near-run, the Doctor allowed himself to relax, just the tiniest bit. If he left Tegan, even for the short time it would take to fetch the items he'd requested, the results could be disastrous for both of them.

Nyssa didn't understand, and how could she? He barely understood it himself. In four lifetimes, he'd never faced this particular Time Lord blight. None of his immediate family, what was left of them, had; none of his friends and classmates had either, not even the Master. Of all of them, he thought bitterly, it would've been the Master who'd have embraced the taint. But no, he'd never shown any signs that the contamination had affected him in any regeneration, and as a purely biological manifestation it wouldn't have survived him stealing Tremas' body.

His lip pulled back in a snarl as he thought of his once-friend and now greatest enemy. The Master had much to answer for, and if Adric had suffered anything more than simple unconsciousness, there would be yet another item on the Master's ever-increasing list of crimes requiring retribution. Still, there was nothing he could do about it, not right now. Not until Tegan had stabilized, not until the regenerative energies had run their course through both their bodies. Even so, it felt like sacrificing one companion for the sake of another as well as for his own, selfish needs—but either Adric was alive and therefore able to be rescued, or he was dead and there was nothing that could be done about it.

Except, of course, to avenge him when things had calmed down a bit.

Nyssa interrupted his brooding thoughts just long enough to drop a heavily laden oval tray onto the foot of the bed—carefully avoiding the wolf skin, the Doctor noted with one part of his mind. Then she turned without a word and left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar since she wouldn't be able to open it again. Good girl; he knew he could count on her to act first and save the rest of her very understandable questions for later.

The small smile that comforting thought brought him faded into a frown as he considered her situation. It was dangerous, sending her out there alone, just as it had been dangerous to simply leave Adric where he fell. But then, at least she knew what she was getting into; it had been even more dangerous for the Pharos Project guards, who had no idea who the Master was or what he was capable of.

He felt immensely frustrated at the situation; if it had been simply his own life at stake, he wouldn't have hesitated, would gladly have sacrificed himself to save his young charges.

But he couldn't. Tegan needed him, needed him desperately, and he wasn't looking forward to explaining things to her once she regained consciousness.

Especially if she did so while he was in the middle of draining the blood from her body with his newly-grown fangs.


	2. That Which Survives

Tegan woke up twice, thankfully neither time while the Doctor was engaged in drinking her blood. Which he only had to do once. It was strange, this new physiological need his body had. Stranger than anything he'd ever gone through before — and he'd once been turned into a woman.

Still, small favors and all that. Tegan slept through the distasteful but necessary process, rousing for the first time not long afterward. She didn't even truly wake up, just sort of groggily croaked out that her head hurt and she was thirsty. He coaxed some food into her as well, in between sips of the juice Nyssa had provided. She finished off nearly half a liter of that before dropping back to sleep, head nestled beneath his chin.

She slept for another hour, as did he. The Doctor was grateful for that respite, since the second time she awoke — seconds after he did — things were much less peaceful.

**oOo**

Tegan came slowly to consciousness, but snapped fully awake when she realized she was naked. Naked, and most definitely not alone.

Someone was holding her snugly against their own body. A masculine somebody, judging by the look of the bare arms enfolding her in their grasp. A masculine, naked,  _aroused_  somebody; that was very definitely an erection she felt pressed up against her bum.

She gasped as these realizations made their way through the sludge that seemed to comprise her mind at the moment, tried to scramble away only to hear a strange man's voice in her ear: "Tegan, calm down, it's all right, it's me. The Doctor. You're safe."

"Not safe enough for what you have in mind!" she snapped, stubbornly continuing to try and pull away from him. Bad enough he'd died and regenerated right in front of her eyes; bad enough he'd managed to somehow get her entangled in his regeneration — she remembered the storm of energy that swept over her clearly enough, even if what immediately followed was a complete blank. But this was absolutely NOT acceptable, and she didn't hesitate to tell him so at the top of her lungs.

Before she could get herself worked up enough to start panicking when his grip refused to ease by so much as a centimeter, he spoke again, his voice low and level but edged with something she couldn't quite wrap her mind around — regret? Was that regret she was hearing? Whatever it was, it had the immediate effect of snapping her back from the edge of panic. "Tegan, I'm sorry, but we have to maintain close physical contact, in order to allow the process to complete."

"What bloody process?" she growled.

He stiffened at her words, as if something she'd said had a particular meaning she wasn't quite getting. Instead of answering her, however, he responded with a question of his own. "How much do you remember of what happened after I started to regenerate?"

She stopped squirming against his hold about long enough to consider the question. She wasn't sure she entirely trusted him, certainly not in this new, naked, aroused form, but Nyssa and Adric did, and she quite liked the two youngsters and trusted their trust in their alien companion. "Regeneration, right, you regenerated. You merged with the Watcher, you turned into a new person…"

"And after that?"

She was trying very hard to ignore what was going on with this new body of his, but couldn't take it a second longer: "I don't know, it's bloody hard to think with your cock trying to get my attention!"

She heard him suck in his breath at her words, as if he hadn't even been aware of the way his body was reacting to their enforced closeness, and felt him retreat, just marginally, just from the waist down, although he remained as near to her as he could otherwise. "I'm sorry about that," he replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. "It's not…not part of the normal process." Before she could comment on the hesitation in his voice, he added: "Apparently my new body still needs some…adjusting."

Adjusting. As if he could just turn his body's reactions to holding a naked woman in his arms on and off. But then, she'd just watched him transform himself from one man to another; who knew what he was capable of? "Does that mean you're not…that you don't expect me to…"

"No, no, I promise," he gabbled, sounding flustered. "Nothing like… _that_ …is necessary. Just the physical contact between our bodies for a few more hours. By then our cells will have finished reconfiguring. You'll just have to be patient a bit longer, I promise."

Quashing the flash of disappointment she felt at his reassurances that she wasn't about to become the human half of the first alien-human coupling — not that she wanted such a thing, of course she didn't, how ridiculous! — she turned her head and faced him, getting her first really good look at the Doctor's new face.

He'd gone blonde; so, her confused memories weren't as confused as she thought. He actually did have straight blonde hair now, with blue eyes so intense she could drown in them. Just her luck, he'd managed to turn into exactly the type of man she'd always been attracted to. Then, as his last words sank in, she reared her head back in alarm. "Wait, what? What's that mean,  _our_  cells are reconfiguring? Don't you mean  _yours_  are? You're the one who regenerated, what's this got to do with me?"

She knew she wouldn't like his answer even before he spoke. "Tegan, this is all going to be a bit much for you to take in, but I need you to listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you…"

Before he could say another word, the bedroom door was pushed fully open and Nyssa dashed into the room, panting. "Doctor! It's Adric, he's back, he's safe, the Master left without…Oh, Tegan, you're awake!" she interrupted herself with a relieved smile. "I'm so glad! How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure," Tegan replied, giving the Doctor a pointed look as Nyssa hurried over to stand by her side of the bed. "But the Doc here was just about to explain things. Something about my cells reconfiguring, wasn't that it?"

Nyssa looked back and forth between the two of them, astonished. "Doctor? How is that possible?"

The Doctor responded with an impatient huff. What, had he not wanted to explain this to all of them? Too sodding bad. Tegan wasn't willing to wait Besides, she felt a little better with Nyssa in the room, less worried about the possibility of the Doctor suddenly changing his mind about the necessity of "that", as he'd put it, and suddenly pinning her to the mattress in order to have his wicked way with her.

Even though — no, especially  _because_ — there was a part of her that found the prospect rather thrilling.

"I suppose it's better I explain this all at once and not have to repeat myself," he said, directing his words to Nyssa. "You said Adric's back, yes? Where is he?"

"The Console Room. He said he was sending the TARDIS into the Vortex, he thought it would be safer than leaving it on Earth," she explained, glancing over her shoulder toward the door. "He should be here any sec…"

As if he'd been waiting for her to announce him, Adric appeared in the doorway. He blinked once at the sight of the Doctor and Tegan entwined together on the oversized bed, but said nothing as Nyssa gestured for him to join them.

With a squeak of alarm Tegan snatched at the edges of the coverlet, throwing it over herself and the Doctor whilst flushing bright red. In the heightened emotions of the moment she'd forgotten that she was buck naked and bare to the enquiring eyes of the world — in this case, Nyssa and Adric. At least Nyssa was a scientist, but she absolutely did not need to be ogled by an adolescent boy on top of everything else.

She covered her flustered reaction as she usually did, by a show of temper, glaring at the Doctor and snapping: "Right, everybody's here now, so get on with explaining why my cells are being reconfigured!"

**oOo**

The Doctor hesitated before speaking, covering his hesitation by fidgeting the two of them so they were sitting side-by-side rather than lying curled around one another, although he was careful to maintain close body contact — and to keep the coverlet over them. Thankfully his unplanned physiological reaction to their enforced proximity had eased, although his embarrassment remained.

 _Irrelevant_ , he reminded himself sternly. Time to worry on such things later. Right now he was expected to talk to a group of people who weren't any of them going to be very happy with what he was about to tell them. Not to mention the fact that, if word ever got back to Gallifrey and the High Council that he'd revealed so much of their secret history to non-Time Lords, he'd be in for a world — a galaxy, a universe — of trouble.

Not that he could return in his present condition anyway, not unless he was willing to spend the rest of his life a virtual prisoner on his own planet, being studied and experimented upon by Gallifrey's top geneticists and biologists and chemists and any other "ists" that wanted to jump into the scientific fray. His mutation was rare, rare enough that even millennia after the initial contamination had been discovered, little was known about it. Which made his people extremely eager to take advantage of whatever poor soul had spontaneously grown fangs and an aversion to full sunlight.

Like himself.

Putting aside his own reluctance to spend the remainder of this regeneration as a lab rat, there was the question of Tegan. His life and that of his accidental passenger, the young Human woman who only wanted to get her life back, were now inextricably entwined.

And now he had to explain to his companions why that was. "Right. Explanations. First, there's a piece of ancient history I have to recount to you, and yes, Tegan, it's absolutely relevant," he added sternly when she opened her mouth, no doubt to offer up objections. "You'll see why, not to worry." He tried a reassuring (and closed-mouth, no sense in bringing attention to the most visible change that regeneration had wrought) smile but wasn't surprised when she didn't return it. "Back in the mists of history, so far back that the original records were lost, there was a race of beings, very powerful, very dangerous. Evil, I'd go so far to say. They swarmed across the galaxy, leaving nothing but death in their wake, until the Time Lords went to war against them."

All three youngsters were listening attentively; good. "The war went on for so long that it sickened the Time Lords so that ever after they renounced violence. Are you with me so far?" He glanced at Tegan, who gave an impatient nod. Before she could insert a comment, if that was indeed her intent, he hurried on. "The end result was that the species was believed to have been exterminated."

"A war of genocide? By the Time Lords?" Nyssa sounded fascinated and horrified at the same time. Tegan looked sickened, but Adric simply stood quietly and listened. Interesting, that, but the Doctor had no time to ponder it, not if he wanted to finish his story and offer up the promised explanation before the natives became restless. Specifically the native currently sitting stiffly next to him.

"Yes, sadly," he said in response to Nyssa's question. "However, at the time it was deemed absolutely necessary; these beings would have killed every living soul in the Universe, given the chance. But when the war was over and the bodies counted up, one was missing. Their king."

"Wait, I know this story!" That was Adric, putting in a word at last. Perhaps he was still recovering from the aftereffects of being stunned by whatever weapon the Master had used against him.

The Doctor simply nodded at the boy's belated understanding of what he was hearing. Or rather, what he was re-hearing. "Yes, you do. But the others don't. Let me finish, if you please."

"So what happened to their king?" Tegan asked, sounding interested in spite of herself. Good. That meant she was really listening and not just brooding on her current situation. Time enough for that once she found out the extent of her predicament—and what it would mean for her, how it would affect the remainder of her life.

A life that had most likely been prolonged by the regenerative energies that had also changed her in other, less pleasant ways. Ways he was still trying to find the best way to explain.

"As it turns out, he ended up in E-Space, where Romana—the Time Lady I was traveling with—and I stumbled across him and the cult that had grown up around his dormant form." He took a second to shoot a stern glance in Adric's direction. "This was shortly after Adric, um, joined us." Technically he'd stowed away, but that was water over the dam now. "Suffice to say the Vampire King did not survive his encounter with us and his kind have been truly eradicated. Sort of."

"Vampire King?" Tegan repeated incredulously. "Are you serious? And what do you mean by 'sort of' eradicated?" she added in the same breath. She tensed as if to pull away from him again. Why couldn't she get it into her head that to do so was dangerous?

The Doctor tightened his hold on her. "Tegan, please, I told you we need to remain in close physical contact until the regenerative energies have finished their job."

"And what, for the last time,  _is_  their bloody job?" she shouted. Right into his face. Not that he didn't deserve it, he knew very well that he was drawing this out as long as he could, trying to put off the oncoming storm till the last possible second.

Well, that second was here and now. "Tegan, the creatures I've been describing, at some point during the war they managed to contaminate the Time Lord genome, corrupting it via the medium of the genetic looms we employed at that time for reproduction." He could see Nyssa's eyes light up at that revelation, and knew he was in for a detailed explanation of that process at some point in the future. Tegan merely looked even more confused, and in the end it was Adric who spelled it out in a manner she couldn't help but understand.

The youngster had tilted his head to one side, a considering expression on his face. "Doctor, are you saying that Time Lords can become vampires?"

Absolute silence greeted his question, fascinated on Nyssa's part, horrified on Tegan's. One didn't have to be an empath to recognize either emotion in the two women's faces. "When the mutation first started showing up, it was hoped that it only certain bloodlines had been contaminated, although as time passed my people realized it could strike any genetic line at any time. In fact, it's been centuries since the last recorded event. We all believed the taint had been eradicated."

"But it hasn't," Tegan whispered. He could feel her shaking, her entire body trembling as the enormity of what he was trying to explain sank in. She looked up at him with eyes gone wide and round with fear. "That's what happened to you, what you've been trying to…you're a vampire. Oh my God, you're a  _vampire_!"

He nodded, regarding her watchfully as she reached up with trembling fingers to push his upper lip away from his teeth.

From his unnaturally elongated canines.

Her shaking increased to the point that her own teeth were chattering in her head as her eyes dilated in utter terror. There was only one way he was going to get through to her now, and he absolutely refused to do so in front of an audience. His eyes flickered first to Nyssa and then Adric. "Out. Both of you."

Adric turned without saying anything and left, but Nyssa hesitated, obviously torn between doing as the Doctor ordered and staying behind to try and help Tegan. "Nyssa, I promise, she'll be fine, but I need to deal with her alone, with no distractions. I give you my word she'll come to no harm from me."

She nodded, just once, hesitated only long enough to offer Tegan a compassionate glance, then followed Adric out of the room.

When they were alone, he moved with lightning speed, covering Tegan's body fully with his own to try and control the shaking, at the same time grasping her head between his hands and forcing her eyes up to meet his. "Tegan, you have to listen to me. There's more you need to know, a lot more, and this is the only way I'm going to be able to get through to you now."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, holding her head firmly in place. "I'm sorry," he whispered, then closed his eyes and plunged his mind into hers.


	3. Metamorphosis

_Tegan kneels on the grass by the Doctor's body, staring in awe as he literally changes into a different person right before her eyes. Well, according to what she understands of it — which isn't much — he's actually the same person, just rebuilt physically from the ground up. The ghostly Watcher has merged with his broken form, mending it, changing everything except the clothing he wears. Where he'd been all white teeth and dark curls and imposing nose, now he is a fair-skinned, blue-eyed blonde with a slighter build as evidenced by the clothes that now appear to rest on his form more loosely than before._

_She knows her jaw has dropped, that she is staring at him with wide eyes, but she can't move, still caught up in the strange and wondrous transformation she's just witnessed. Too caught up to react immediately to the sound of the Pharos Project guards shouting at them, to do more than fleetingly notice that Adric and Nyssa have risen to their feet and taken a few steps in the direction of the approaching men._

_A few steps that take them just far enough away from the Doctor that when the storm of golden energy suddenly erupts from his transformed body they are well out of range when it surges into a cloud that rapidly engulfs her._

_She feels no terror, and realizes in some distant corner of her mind that she is reliving this experience, that she knows, somewhere deep in her subconscious, what is about to happen next. That she has gone through it once and buried the memory, unable to confront it when she first regained consciousness._

_But now she is being forced, albeit gently, from the cocooning safety of imposed emotional distance, to confront the things she couldn't bring herself to face the first time around. She knows without knowing how she knows that it is vital that she do so. There are things she needs to understand, things that will affect her for the rest of her life, and in this curious emotion-free zone, she is able to accept that fact where her waking mind would fight to suppress it._

_So she simply waits, with just the slightest feeling of curiosity, for what is about to happen next. Or rather, for what_ happened _next._

_It isn't long in coming. The golden cloud of energy isn't simply surrounding her, she feels it invading her entire body, and she knows that when this first happened it was quite painful, burning within and without her skin, her every nerve on fire, the sensation of the worst electrical shock she'd ever experienced magnified beyond calculation throughout every inch of her body._

_But she feels nothing this time but a slight tingling, even though her memory-self is screaming in pain. The Doctor is screaming as well, and she knows this can't be right. He'd been so peaceful when they first came upon him after he fell to the ground, accepting that the moment of his death had come — and had been, in his own words, "prepared for." When his form merged with that of the ghostly Watcher, there had been no signs of pain or even discomfort, just two beings becoming one, and that one emerging with a brand new face and form._

_But now something has gone wrong, horribly wrong, something he must not have anticipated; something he doesn't seem to have been remotely prepared for. As his mouth stretches open to let out another wrenching scream, she sees his top canines elongating into fangs. She knows that her initial, horrified reaction to this sight was overwritten by the agony she was also undergoing, but takes the time now to run her tongue over her teeth; no fangs there, no signs of anything happening to her except being caught in this strange bioelectrical storm._

_The Doctor's eyes snap open, fasten on hers, and she shudders as she sees no sign of awareness in them, only a blank stare with nothing behind it. Before she can react, he lunges forward, tearing away the fabric of her uniform scarf from her neck, wrenching the collar down to expose her throat. She reaches up to push him away, but he is terrifyingly strong; he shoves her hands aside with no sign of effort and presses his mouth against the bared skin of her throat and sinks his fangs deep into her jugular._

_Drinking her blood. She can feel it leaving her body even while she's still convulsing in agony from the regenerative energy still exploding through and around her. She expects to die, from one cause or the other, and is faintly surprised when he stops before completely draining her dry._

_As he releases her, the storm of energy engulfing them fades, the last of the pain and light vanishing about the same time the Doctor pulls his head away from her, allowing her to sink back to the ground in a near-stupor._

_She watches through half-lidded eyes, her mind befuddled, body still tingling but no longer in pain, as the Doctor gathers himself. He, too, has collapsed to the ground, but where she can barely keep her eyes open from the combined aftermath of pain and weakness from severe blood loss, he manages to bring himself to his knees and from there makes his way directly to her side._

_He peers down at her, an expression of sorrow and anger in his eyes like she's never seen before, both emotions so clear to her it's as if she can feel them herself. He's whispering something, and she strains to hear what he's saying, is vaguely surprised to realize it's the same words over and over again;. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"_

_Then her eyes finally win the battle against her will; they close, and she feels him gathering her into his arms before blackness carries her away._

**oOo**

She opens her eyes. She is still not awake, still doesn't know how she knows this, but knows that, even though this looks like the TARDIS Console Room, it is only a construct within her mind.

Then she turns and understands  _how_  she knows all this, why she feels so remote from her own emotions.

The Doctor is standing by the interior door to the TARDIS, leaning against it with his hands behind him, his stance studiously casual and unthreatening. He is in his new form, and she takes the time to study it before saying anything.

Her initial impressions of him turn out to be correct: straight blonde hair that wants to flop into his eyes, intense blue eyes, handsome but not quite movie-star handsome. She also sees that he is, indeed, slighter in build than he was before, since he is no longer wearing his previous self's clothing. Instead he is wearing a simple black t-shirt and a tight-fitting pair of jeans, with a pair of gray and black Nikes on his feet.

When she remains silent, a slight inward slant of his eyebrows is the only indication that he is confused. She smiles to herself; it's good, for once, to be the one putting him off stride instead of the other way round. She anticipates this to be a very brief victory, and his first words show her just how right she is.

"When you wake up, you're still going to be very cross with me. This is just a temporary respite."

She shrugs, trails her fingers along the edge of the alien machinery of the console as she moves around it. Toward him, emboldened by her lack of panic, which she understands now, he is somehow suppressing. Just as she knows without a doubt that he is the one responsible for this little mental journey they are undertaking, a trip to the past so she can clearly recall everything that happened during his regeneration. She still doesn't speak, even though he is correct; she will, indeed, be very cross with him once she's awake and back in control of her own emotions.

And not just because of the whole vampire thing, not just because he bit her and not even because it's obvious he has some more unpleasant news to impart to her. She knows she'll be angry that he's forced this Vulcan mind-meld on her, that she'll rail against him and most likely call him names that would make even her Uncle Vic, the long-haul truck driver, blush.

Still, that can wait until she  _feels_  the emotions she's simply speculating about right now. Unlike her awake self, she can actually keep her mouth shut here, within her own mind. Or are they within  _his_  mind? She ponders that, but only briefly, as she comes to a stop directly in front of him and once again meets his gaze, this time with an expectant tilt to her head and politely raised eyebrows, a non-verbal "Well? Go on," she knows will be as clear to him as if she actually says the words.

He meets her deliberate silence with a slight smile twitching at the corner of his lips, rueful and resigned. "Fine. I'll do all the talking then. Which is just as well, since I did all this in order to get you to listen to me."

He pauses, as if expecting her to comment or get defensive, but honestly, he's the one who imposed this emotional distance on her; shouldn't he realize he can't provoke a reaction from her right now? But she shrugs and nods her head to indicate her desire for him to get on with it.

When he finally does, she knows she's going to be very,  _very_  cross with him when she wakes up. "When you were caught up in the regenerative energies, your body began to undergo a cellular metamorphosis, much as mine did. But where my…alteration…came at the hands of the Giant Vampires, yours, I regret to say, is the result of my own people's meddling in our genetics."

She almost blurts out a question, but manages to hold it back. But she can't help taking a wary step away from him. He puts his hands up placatingly and she stops retreating, but feels a sliver of fear making its way through the emotional barriers he's erected. She's undergone a cellular metamorphosis, what the hell does that mean, exactly?

He waits until she stops moving before speaking again, slowly, obviously choosing his words with a great deal of care. "Some time after the discovery that the Gallifreyan gene pool had been contaminated, my ancestors either discovered or manufactured a way to help their afflicted brethren. The records aren't very clear as to how the process came about, only that it did. When a vampire regeneration — a sanguiferous regeneration, to use the technical term — occurs, there is a delay between the beginning of the regeneration process and the end. The delay happens so there is time for someone, usually a family member who's already volunteered for the task if the need ever arose, to be physically close enough to be engulfed in the regenerative energies, as you were, thus undergoing an ancillary regenerative transformation."

This time she can't keep shut, she's so outraged by what he's telling her even through the forced emotional distancing. "Wait, so you knew what was happening and bit me anyway?!"

"No, that's not…of course I didn't bite you on purpose!" he says, sounding offended and flustered at the same time. "I wasn't in control of myself, I was barely aware of anything outside the agony we both were experiencing and an overwhelming, blind sensation that I needed something — but I didn't come back to myself, I didn't actually know what it was I needed until after I'd already taken your blood." He looks directly at her, and she is taken aback at the sadness she sees in his eyes. "I'm sorry, you have to believe that. I promise you, I did not deliberately bring about your current state."

"Which is what, exactly? Am I going to turn into a vampire, too?" she asks; since she's already broken her self-imposed silence, there's no sense in not asking when she's burning with questions. She does feel somewhat placated by his assurance that he wasn't aware of his own actions, that he didn't mean to hurt her, although that doesn't change the fact that he's done…something to her. Something besides drinking her blood. Which she knows will absolutely gross her out when she wakes up even though all she feels now is a distant sense of distaste at the idea.

"No, that's not possible," he reassures her, although his next words are as far from reassuring as they can possibly be. "You've become what we call a Sanguinaria, a blood giver. On my home planet it's considered somewhat of a sacred duty, a burden willingly shouldered should the need arise."

She ignores the history lecture, not remotely interested in how his people deal with this "sacred duty," only in what it means to her, personally. She feels a distant sense of relief that she won't become a vampire herself; the idea holds no appeal to her. Nor does the idea of being his…what did he call it? "A blood giver," she repeats slowly. "What, I'm the only person whose blood you can…drink?" The last word is spoken with a slight grimace; emotional distance or not, she finds herself squeamish discussing the idea, even in light of all the strange and marvelous and terrible things she's witnessed since her Aunt Vanessa's tyre went flat on the road to Heathrow.

"No, I can survive on any humanoid blood as long as it comes from a living creature," he replies, shifting his feet and flicking his eyes away from hers. Good, it appears this is making him as uncomfortable as it's making her. "The idea of the Sanguinaria is to provide a reliable source of blood so that the transformed Time Lord — or Time Lady, as the case may be, although they're even rarer — doesn't have to go about biting random victims in order to survive."

"At least you're willing to admit that I'm a victim," she says, surprised to hear real bitterness in her voice — and equally surprised by her surprise. The emotional distance seems to be wearing off. Just as well, since she's never been one for dry academic prose, too much a creature of impulse and emotion her entire life to not resent being forced into disinterested conversation, no matter how well-meaning the intent behind it. "So I'm a reliable blood source. What exactly does that mean? Whatever it is, I know it's bad, just by the way you're dancing around the subject, trying not to say it. So just get it over with."

She crosses her arms and offers up a mild glare, which earns her a stony look and the sound of what might have been an aggravated sigh. She suspects she'll be seeing and hearing that particular combination from him in the real world as well. A lot.

"Your body chemistry has been altered," he says, speaking flatly, no trace of emotion at all in his voice or on his face as he straightens up and stops lounging against the door. "You'll periodically start producing blood at roughly twice the normal rate. The excess blood is meant for my…use."

She takes a moment to digest that concept. "So, what you're saying is that I'm a sort of living blood bank?  _That's_  what you did to me?"

"Essentially, yes," he replies, still keeping completely neutral, no doubt because he can tell she is becoming more emotional.

If she were feeling more kindly disposed toward him, she would probably let him know that nothing infuriates her more than someone who manages to keep calm while she is losing her temper.

She is not so inclined, however, and so moves on as she feels her sluggish anger finally rolling toward the boil experience tells her to expect. "And why can't all this…excess blood…just get drained off by transfusion, with a needle and a bag at the Red Cross? Why do I have to spend — how long, the rest of my life? — stuck as your own personal moveable feast?"

"Because if you simply drain the blood through conventional methods, it will regenerate. And it will keep regenerating until you die." There is emotion on his features, finally; a guilty, haunted expression that, considering the circumstances, he damn well deserves to wear. "The biochemical catalyst for your body to temporarily stop overproducing is in my saliva."

She turns her head away. "In other words, no biting, no dice," she snaps, hugging her arms to herself. Wonderful. "So we really are stuck with each other. Forever."

"I'm afraid so. I know of no way to reverse either process. I'm sorry."

She's getting sick of that word. "Sorry doesn't cover it, we both know it so stop saying it," she snaps. His eyebrows slant inward at her reaction, the trace of a frown tugs at his lips; is he surprised that whatever he did to stifle her emotions isn't working as well as it was before? Good. "What about regenerating?" she asks before he can say whatever it was he was going to say next. "What if you die and come back again, will that cure us?"

She can tell he doesn't want to answer that particular question by the way his eyes slide away from hers, which means it won't be an answer she likes, but she has to hear and so clamps her lips shut and waits.

It isn't long before he speaks, and as expected, his voice is filled with reluctance. "It might cure me. But it wouldn't do anything to change your condition. Some Time Lords have tried regenerating and it worked for them, but not for all of them. For the ones it did cure, their Sanguinarias simply regenerated as well; since that was a condition our own geneticists created, they built in a regenerative trigger to cancel out the transformation. But it was never intended to work on alien biology of any sort, especially not one as prim…relatively unsophisticated as that of a Human."

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, to keep her mounting anger and despair at bay for as long as she can. She has so many questions she wants to ask before the inevitable bursting of the emotional dam, so she tries to focus on them and not on how the answers will directly affect her. She's finding that difficult, especially since she's pretty sure he was about to call her a primitive, an insult she wouldn't normally allow to pass, but she manages. "What about research, are they looking into it, still trying to find a cure?"

He nods, transparently eager to give what little reassurance he can. "Of course. Research into finding a cure, a way to purge this taint from our genes, is ongoing, always has been, ever since it was first discovered. Believe me, if there were a cure every Time Lord in the Universe would know about it. And if one ever is discovered in future, I can assure you, I will make a point of being among the first to know."

"Why can't you just go directly to the future and find out?" she demands, knowing as she asks that if it were that easy, the man with the time machine at his disposal would have already done so.

He shakes his head. "We can't travel to Gallifrey outside our own time lines, past or future. Only to our personal present. I'm sor…" He cuts himself off abruptly; it would be funny if the situation weren't so dire.

She throws up her hands and turns away from him, walking rapidly to the TARDIS entrance, as far from him as she can get while still stuck in this room. She suspects if she were to try to open the door it wouldn't budge, so she doesn't bother. What she does do is rest her head against the cool, white, plastic-looking material and close her eyes. "Anything else?" she asks when she feels herself back under control.

"You'll probably live a longer life than before," he answers her. "I can't be sure, since this is the first time a Human has been converted into a Sanguinaria — "

She whirls to face him so quickly she makes herself dizzy. "Wait, that means you don't know how it will affect me, not for sure, only how it affects your own people!" The dizziness converts itself into a rush of hope. "I mean, are you sure, absolutely sure, that I'm stuck this way? Can't you run some tests to see if it hasn't fully taken, since I'm Human instead of Time Lord?"

He looks uncertain for the first time since this all began, and she feels the hope rising. "Tegan, it's extremely unlikely…"

"But not impossible," she interrupts, rushing up to him and grasping his hands in hers. He starts a bit, as if he hadn't expected the physical contact, and she is reminded that, back in the real world, the two of them are presumably still lying naked in bed together while all this is going on. So why flinch away from her now?

She files it away for future pondering, eager to hear confirmation of her sudden hope, searching his face for clues that she's right about this. "Unlikely but not impossible," she presses. "Right?"

Slowly he nods, the expression on his face turning thoughtful rather than doubtful. "The TARDIS' medical bay is fully equipped for treating Time Lords and Humans, and I'm sure I can land us somewhere that has even more advanced equipment if necessary…"

She throws her arms about him. "Thank you," she cries, hugging him tightly and feeling tears of relief on her cheeks. Yes, she'll still be angry and frightened when she wakes up, but at least she now has this grain of hope to carry her through.

She feels his arms go around her after a moment, returning the hug, before he gently pushes her away from him. "Our bodies have finished stabilizing," he says, just as gently. "I can feel it. It's time for our minds to separate — "

"Time to leave the Vulcan mind-meld, you mean?" she asks with a grin.

His lips part in an answering small smile and she realizes with a start that he has no fangs here.

Not that she blames him for skipping that particular detail when constructing his mental self; in fact, she feels an unexpected surge of sympathy that she's not sure will last into her waking state as she nods and steps away from him. He didn't ask for this either, and she knows how much he regrets dragging her into it, that he didn't consciously fasten on her to be his Sanguine-whatsis.

She's still angry, though, and as the Console Room and Doctor fade into nothingness around her, she knows that that's the first emotion she'll be feeling when she regains consciousness.


	4. Wolf In the Fold

Tegan started as she came back to consciousness for the third time that day. This time, however, she knew exactly where she was and exactly what was going on, no fuzziness getting in the way.

And yeah, she'd been right; she was thoroughly ticked off.

The Doctor had released his hold on her and moved his body away from hers for the first time in what felt like forever. She realized she had absolutely no idea how long they'd been forced into such intimate contact while their bodies stabilized into their new, unwanted, forms, but wasn't in the mood to ask. She especially wasn't in the mood to humor the teeny tiny, itsy bitsy oh-so-insignificant part of herself that was sorry he'd moved away.

What she  _was_  in the mood for was getting dressed and leaving the Doctor and the TARDIS far, far behind.

Barring that—knowing it an impossible dream even as she dreamed it—she would settle for getting dressed and finding a less disquieting room in which to brood on her troubles.

"It wasn't like this before."

She turned to look at the Doctor, automatically holding the sheet and comforter up to her chest even though that horse had long ago left the barn. "The room," he explained, looking around and pinching his lips together in an expression of disgust. "The TARDIS somehow knew what was happening and I fear this is her little joke at my expense."

If Tegan set aside anything else to ponder later, her head would explode, but set aside the question of how a space ship/time machine could play practical jokes she did as she wrinkled her nose to show her own lack of appreciation for the Gothic monstrosity in which she currently found herself…was trapped too strong a word? No, she didn't think so.

The walls, what she could see of them between the many medieval-style tapestries that covered them in huge swathes, appeared to be stone. Every other room on the TARDIS she'd seen had white walls with roundels indenting them, just like the Console Room and the corridors. Well, every room but the cloister room, with its equally weird pseudo-classical architecture. Still, even that sight could never have prepared her for what she was seeing now.

The ceiling, as well as the parts of the floor not covered by haphazard heaps of Turkish carpets, appeared to be stone as well, although it was hard to tell in the gloom; the room's only lighting came from the massive stone fireplace to the right of the bed and the dozens of candles that sat in wrought-iron sconces on the walls and in matching candelabra on the room's one wooden table on the other side of the bed. The two chairs set neatly at either end of the table were also wood, with plush, crimson cushions that matched the bedding and hangings on the bed itself.

The décor of the room certainly wasn't helping her mood, and she decided that it was just as well that the lighting was so poor; did she really want to take a closer look at the carvings she glimpsed on the four posters that supported the bed's hangings, or decorated the massive trunk she could just see past the bed's foot? Or the wardrobe that stood exactly opposite where she sat? She thought not.

The sight of the wardrobe, however, did remind her of a more pressing need. "Where are my clothes?" she demanded.

The Doctor looked abashed as he admitted: "I'm afraid they're quite unusable now. I was in a bit of a hurry when I removed them." At her angry glare, he added in defensive tones: "Tegan, if we didn't immediately get into close physical contact, then your body would not have stabilized. Humans weren't built to withstand the energies that regenerate a Time Lord, even in the limited fashion you were affected."

He winced at his choice of words even as her eyes widened in outrage. "Limited fashion?" she hissed, scrambling to her knees and forgetting to cover herself in her agitation. "You call being turned into your personal meal card being affected in a 'limited fashion'?"

His eyes fixed on her heaving chest, and he felt his body begin to react to the sight of her the same way it had immediately upon pressing his naked body against hers. Was that part of the mutation, that he could no longer control his body's reactions to the sight and feel of a naked woman?

He kept himself under the blankets, unobtrusively twisting his torso so nothing was revealed, bringing his gaze up to meet hers before she realized where his eyes had fixed. In her current state of mind she'd be likely to accuse him of rape if she noticed either reaction. "Tegan, I'm sor—I didn't mean to make it sound as if you haven't gone through a major trauma, because of course you have. All I meant was that you weren't being rebuilt from the most basic cellular level into a brand new person. Your body was altered in a much more limited fashion. You still look like yourself, nothing else has changed except your blood production and, I believe, your aging process."

"And how do you know that?" Her chin jutted out aggressively as she sat back on her heels, hands on hips, an angry flush spreading across her cheeks. "You haven't even bothered to check me out medically yet!"

"Because there hasn't been time!" he shouted, immediately regretting it. His temper was something else he'd need to relearn control over, apparently. He'd always had one, but no one had ever brought it boiling up in him so quickly, and for so little reason. After all, she was right, and he knew damn well that she was more frightened than angry. Just as he knew that her reaction to being frightened was to cover it up with anger. Their mental link had given him a great deal of insight into Tegan Elizabeth Jovanka, and he needed to use that knowledge to try and help her through this.

Not lose his temper and shout at her. He started to apologize, thought better of it, and simply continued in a conversational tone of voice. "Look, Tegan, when we were joined together mentally, you asked me if there was a chance your condition could be reversed since it had never happened to a Human before, remember?"

She nodded, and he rushed on before she could say whatever it was she had just opened her mouth to say. "So let's find something to wear, make sure Adric is all right after his ordeal at the hands of the Master, gather up Nyssa, and then we'll go to the medical bay and get you checked out. All right?"

She'd completely forgotten about the Master, he could tell by the blank look on her face when he mentioned Adric. "What did happen to Adric?" she asked in a small voice. "I know you said he was back, but I didn't realize he'd gone anywhere. The Master did something to him?"

Good, she was thinking about someone else's situation rather than her own. A healthy sign that she'd be able to come through this without too much mental trauma on top of the physical trauma she'd already sustained. Of course, anyone who ended up in his Console Room and didn't immediately curl up into a babbling ball was made of stern stuff. Not everyone could handle the idea of aliens being real and time machines being bigger on the inside than on the outside.

He explained the situation to her as he knew it. When he finished, he found himself watching with a twinge of amusement as she abruptly—and rather belatedly—realized she was sitting there stark naked. She scrambled back under the covers and glared at him. "Well? Some clothes would be nice!"

"So they would," he agreed, carefully sliding out from beneath his own, thankfully no longer necessary, covers. He kept his back to her as he padded over to the overwrought monstrosity of a wardrobe, deliberately ignoring the leering goblin faces that had been carved into its doors. He threw it open and saw exactly what he'd expected to see: clothing for a man about his size on one side, and clothing for a petite woman like Tegan on the other.

All of which were in various shades of black and red. "I'm afraid there's a rather limited choice at the moment," he called over his shoulder as he pushed the more flamboyant options aside—did the TARDIS really think he'd wear a crimson pirate-style shirt with oversized, lace-trimmed cuffs and a collar that looked as if it would brush against his earlobes?

"Anything's better than the nothing I've got now," came the reply.

She was still glaring at him, her meekness at having forgotten about Adric's plight buried once again beneath her righteous indignation. Not that he turned around to see; he could absolutely feel the heat of her glare on the back of his neck as he shimmied into a pair of tight-fitting black jeans and threw on a matching t-shirt.

Dressing, in short, much like he had during their mental conversation. And when he opened one of the bottom drawers—yes, there they were, a pair of gray and black Nikes to complete the ensemble.

Hm. Perhaps there was more to the TARDIS' choices than simple black humor after all.

"I'll leave you to pick something out for yourself," he said, finally turning to face her now that he was decent.

He didn't miss the indrawn hiss of breath as she, too recognized the clothing he'd selected. "There wasn't anything else in there I'd be caught dead wearing," he said, somewhat defensively.

"Isn't  _anything_  you wear now something you're being caught dead in?" she shot back.

"I'm not actually Undead, Tegan," he began, then stopped when he saw her lips twitching with suppressed amusement. Another good sign, even if it was at his expense. "At any rate, the wardrobe room will have more options than what we've been provided here. I'm going to go find Adric and Nyssa, can you find your way to the Console Room or should we come back and fetch you?"

"I'll find my own way," she said, all traces of humor gone. "I'm going to have to learn to navigate this crate if you can't figure out how to reverse what you did to me."

"Very well." He turned and stalked out of the room, carrying the trainers and a pair of black socks in his hands, not wanting to get into another argument.

If he couldn't reverse what had been done to her, there would no doubt be a long future of such arguments ahead of them both.

**oOo**

Nyssa was pacing anxiously in the Console Room when he finally tracked her down, but Adric was nowhere in sight. "He said he wanted to be alone, to rest up from his adventures," she explained when the Doctor asked her where the youngster had gone. "I imagine he's in his room."

"No, I looked," he replied, running absent fingers around the edge of the console. Much as Tegan had done in the mentally-conjured version of this same room. With a frown of annoyance he snatched his fingers back and gave the ceiling a sharp glance. "I'm surprised she didn't transform this room while she was at it," he muttered, distracted and forgetting that he had an audience.

"Doctor, where's Tegan?" Nyssa asked, tactfully ignoring his petulant outburst. "I presume your regenerations are fully stabilized now?"

Nyssa's calm brought him back into to himself, and he gave her his full attention. "Yes, we had a little chat. She's still very angry with me, of course, and I can hardly blame her, but we've both stabilized."

"Good." Nyssa regarded him for a moment before asking: "And what, exactly, has she stabilized into? Another vampire?"

"Sanguinaria," he corrected her, then went ahead and filled her in on what he'd already explained to Tegan. And would now have to explain to Adric as well. Or perhaps Nyssa would be willing to do so, he thought hopefully. Anything to keep from having to repeat himself for a third time. That was getting tiresome.

He'd just finished talking when Tegan strode into the Console Room. She'd opted for a tight black leather mini skirt, black stockings, black spiked heels and a black v-necked blouse decorated with abstract blobs in red and muted gray. The wardrobe apparently had also provided make up and jewelry, since she'd refreshed the first and was now wearing dangly red earrings and a matching beaded necklace and bracelet.

Said beads being shaped like drops of blood. Naturally.

He chose not to comment on her ensemble, not even sure why he bothered noticing it in the first place. Of course it fit her perfectly and of course it was quite seductive; what else would the TARDIS have provided for a vampire's Sanguinaria to wear?

He would have to have a serious discussion with his time machine at some point in the future.

 _After_  everything else had been sorted out. "So," he said, clapping his hands together and looking brightly from Tegan to Nyssa. "Let's go find Adric, shall we?"

"Don't bother. He's not on your TARDIS and never was."

The unexpected voice came from the direction of the scanner. The Doctor whirled to face it, Tegan and Nyssa turning as well as they had their fears confirmed by the sight of the Master's leering face.

"What do you mean, he was never here?" Nyssa demanded just as the Doctor opened his mouth to ask the same question...and shut it as soon as he realized he already knew the answer

"You took him prisoner," he accused, eyes narrowing in anger. "You still have him."

The Master responded with a mocking chuckle. "But of course, why bother electrocuting him into unconsciousness if I intended to simply let him waltz back into your TARDIS otherwise unharmed?"

"Then who did Nyssa bring back?" Tegan cried, looking from the scanner to the Doctor in confusion.

"A Block Transfer Computation, if I'm not mistaken," was the Doctor's grim reply.

"Very good, Doctor, you're absolutely on fire at the moment," the Master replied with another nasty chuckle. He moved aside, just enough for the three distraught onlookers to catch a glimpse of Adric—the real Adric—being held against the TARDIS wall in some kind of energy web.

"Let him go!" Tegan shrilled, but of course the Time Lord in the stolen body simply shook his head and smiled.

"Oh, no, my dear, I have far too many uses for someone of his mathematical abilities," he replied. "But I must say, it was quite…enlightening…to overhear your conversations while his duplicate was still on board. Oh, it destabilized and disintegrated some time ago, but not before linking our scanners so I could continue to eavesdrop." He locked eyes with Tegan's, lips pursed in false sympathy. "Quite a delicate situation you find yourself in, isn't it? Not what you signed up for when you stowed away, eh? Still, I'm sure the Doctor will do everything in his power to find a cure for you." A slight curl of the lip served to indicate his lack of faith in any such thing occurring.

Before Tegan could go into the pointless exercise of ranting at the Master, the Doctor intervened, thrusting her aside to demand: "What else did the Construct do?"

Something about the Doctor other than his words seemed to catch the Master's attention; he leaned forward as if to peer intently into his adversary's eyes. "Well, that's an interesting side effect. At least your little pets will always know when you're angry."

The non-sequitur threw the Doctor off, but only for a moment; he heard twin gasps escape Nyssa and Tegan's lips as they turned to look at him rather than the scanner. "Your eyes..they've gone red," Tegan said in a strangled gasp as she stumbled back away from him.

Irrelevant, time-wasting, a distraction; the Doctor had more important things to worry about at the moment than a simple cosmetic change brought about by his condition, and Tegan was just going to have to get used to it. "The Construct, what did it to do my TARDIS?" he barked out. "You didn't go to all the trouble of forcing Adric to create the duplicate just so you could eavesdrop on us. So what else did it do?" His eyes swept over the console. "Sabotage? Send us spiraling back in time to Event One at the beginning of the Universe?"

"Tut, Doctor, nothing so dramatic as all that," the Master replied. "Although that is a brilliant idea, by the way; I hope you don't mind if I use it at some point in the future. No, I decided not to destroy you once I learned of your fascinating experiences during regeneration." His voice and eyes turned hard as steel, although there was a sort of gleeful triumph lurking there as well. "I know how much you must be hating this, Doctor, and that the only reason you haven't turned right around and tried to regenerate again is because of what it would do to your Sanguinaria. And that, I think, is punishment enough for you," he added with a sneer. "You'll no doubt devote yourself to pointless attempts at finding a cure so she can go back to her petty little Human life, and so you can go back to fighting evil and meddling in other people's affairs."

The Doctor had gone rigid with fury as the Master taunted them. When the other man finally fell silent, a gloating smile plastered across his face, the Doctor leaned closer to the scanner, so his face would entirely fill the screen on the other side. "You listen to me," he said softly. "I will find you, and I will free Adric from your clutches, make no mistake about that."

The Master leaned forward as well, sneer firmly in place. "And you listen to me, Doctor," he replied. "I have too many uses for the boy to ever let him go, too many schemes in which his assistance will be invaluable. And you already have enough problems to deal with to bother with trying to find me. Especially since I am about to break the link between our two TARDISes, which, if you'd been thinking straight, you would have tried to use to track me down before this."

He pulled away, his screen's angle changing so that it showed his hand, pointer finger outstretched as it stabbed downward and depressed a single button.

The scanner went black. With a shouted curse, the Doctor slammed his fist down onto the console, causing Nyssa and Tegan to both jump in alarm. Then he mumbled an apology and immediately dropped to the floor, removing the access panel in the console's base.

"Doctor? What are you doing?" Tegan asked, still standing well away from him.

"Trying to save Adric," he replied absently. "Be a good girl and stay out of the way, will you?"

While Tegan spluttered indignantly at his dismissal of her, he peered up at Nyssa. "Do you know what a calibration spanner looks like?"

**oOo**

As the two of them set to work, Tegan stormed out of the console room. She knew the Doctor wasn't deliberately trying to piss her off even further, that he was worried about Adric and furious with the Master, but still…she'd been dismissed as if she were some kind of child or pet, and she wouldn't stand for being treated that way.

Especially not if she actually did end up spending the rest of her life with that infuriating man.


	5. Obsession

Tegan spent the better part of the next hour trying to find someplace to lie down and take a nap; her head was splitting and her jaw was aching—the latter no doubt due to the way she kept grinding her teeth. That didn't ease as one door after another opened to reveal only storage rooms, kitchens, the cloister room, a series of rooms small enough to be labeled closets but completely empty…no place with a bed, a sofa, something lie down on.

Except, of course, for the Doctor's private quarters. The fourth time she found herself walking down a slanting, torch-lit corridor that ended abruptly in an oversized, iron-banded wooden door, she shouted to the ceiling: "I'm not going back in there!" Then she turned and stormed off, fists clenched by her sides, and slammed open the next door that she found.

She paused on the threshold; for once, it was a room she could appreciate. A large, white-tiled bathroom with a huge sunken tub smack in the middle. The fittings were ornate brass, quite old fashioned looking, with one tap for hot water and one for cold, but she wouldn't have to use either since the tub was already filled. She knelt by the edge and tested it with her finger; the temp was perfect, and the soothing scent of lavender wafted up to tickle her nose.

Maybe this was the TARDIS' way of making it up to her for being so stubborn?

Whatever. She wasted no time worrying if the bath was meant for someone else; she was feeling childish enough to claim finders-keepers if anyone protested. She locked the door behind her and rapidly shed her borrowed clothing. As outfits went it wasn't bad, but she'd only worn the jewelry in order to tweak the Doctor. Leave it to the Master to one up her in that department.

She chided herself for being so selfish. The Master holding Adric prisoner and taunting them about it wasn't on the same level as wearing vampire-chic to tease the Doctor. She was worried about Adric, desperately worried, and just trying to cover it up by focusing on her own grumpiness.

As she sank into the lavender-scented warmth of the tub, she mused that it would help if there were something she could do to help. Honesty, however, compelled her to admit that the Doctor was right to shoo her out of the Console Room. Even if he used an ordinary tool kit — and what, exactly,  _was_  a calibration spanner, anyway? — she'd be useless to him. Her time on the family ranch back in Brisbane had been spent less in repairing machinery and more in breaking it. Her father and older brothers had tried their hardest to teach her one end of a wrench from another, to no avail. Oh, she could  _work_  the machinery just fine — drive a tractor, even fly their twin-engine Cessna when her father had been begged and badgered into teaching her — but she was hopeless at repair work. Just thinking about how much more complex a spaceship that was also a time machine must be to fix made her head ache even more.

Ugh. Her head. She rubbed at her temples and wondered if there was anything like a medicine cabinet about, but a careful look around the room showed her nothing but bare, roundel-studded walls, the sunken tub, a white ceramic sink…and a pile of fluffy white towels that had materialized out of nowhere next to her discarded clothing. "How about a couple of aspirin?" she asked aloud, wondering how the TARDIS did the things it did.

If things didn't work out the way she hoped, she'd have plenty of time to learn the answer to that question. Depressing thought.

Still, if she was destined — or doomed, depending on how one looked at it — to spend the rest of her life tied to the Doctor, at least he'd regenerated into a real looker, if you disregarded the fangs and the way his eyes turned blood red when he was angry, which was ridiculously easy to do...

She felt herself flushing and sank a little lower in the water. Where on Earth had  _that_  thought come from? She wasn't attracted to him. Not at all. Even if, physically, at least, he was exactly the type she'd been drawn to ever since she first started noticing boys as something more than annoyances. And what girl didn't have romantic fantasies about sexy aliens or vampires falling in love with them? Here she had both in one package. The only problem was, fantasy wasn't reality, and right now, reality really, really sucked. No pun intended.

Even if it had been made vividly clear to her that the plumbing, so to speak, was in working order and appeared compatible, that didn't mean they could actually…

Rabbits, why was she even  _thinking_  about such things? The Doctor had assured her that it was just a matter of "adjustment" when they'd shared that embarrassing moment, and had seemed even more put off than she was when he finally noticed how his body was reacting. And what kind of man didn't realize his flag was at full-staff anyway?

A Time Lord kind of man. An alien. A Human looking alien, but still an alien. Suppose his reaction had nothing to do with her at all?

_And suppose it did?_  some wicked corner of her mind purred.  _Wouldn't you like to find out?_

"No," she said aloud as her flush deepened, giving lie to the vehemence of her protest. She looked around guiltily, as if someone might have heard her outburst, but she was still alone.

But when her eyes fell on the pile of towels, she saw that there was now a small glass of water next to it, as well as two small, white pills.

**oOo**

Nyssa squatted patiently by the Doctor's side as he continued to fiddle with the wiring in the column-like base of the TARDIS console. He'd directed her to a nearby storage room that held an assortment of oddments — pieces of machinery, random pairs of shoes, a large black ball with three holes in it that might be meant for fingers — but most importantly, several boxes of tools both manual and electronic. She'd spent several minutes trotting back and forth in order to carry or drag or push all of the boxes close enough for the Doctor to peer into, working up quite a sweat in the process.

Not that she minded. It was good, to have something to do to take her mind off her troubles and those of her friends. And yes, she counted all three of her traveling companions — the Doctor, Adric, and even Tegan — as friends. She had little enough left in the Universe, she needed some sort of stability in her life now that her home and what was left of her family were gone.

Destroyed by the Master, however inadvertently. Not that he'd shown any sign of repentance…

She shied away from thoughts of Traken; it was gone, destroyed, never to exist again. Even living in a Time Machine that could easily take her to her homeworld's past was no solace for the ache in her heart that came from knowing that she would never see its future.

She was the last of her kind, unless one counted the Master, and she would never be able to find it in her heart to do that. He'd stolen her father's body, killed what remained of Tremas as casually as swatting a fly, and she shuddered to think what Adric might be undergoing at that madman's hands.

Another subject she had to try and put out of her mind, since she couldn't do anything to help Adric until the Doctor managed to find a way to track the Master down. Which left fretting over Tegan and the Doctor's mutual predicament, and there was little enough she could do about that, either; if the greatest minds of Gallifrey hadn't been able to find a cure, then what could she do? She was scientifically trained and had been told she had good instincts, certainly, but she was no Time Lord.

As she found herself sliding toward despair, the Doctor spoke up suddenly, his head and arms still half-buried in the console's guts. "Thank you, Nyssa."

"For what? Handing you tools?" she asked, dismayed to hear a note of bitterness in her voice. She prided herself on her ability to remain calm no matter what the circumstances, or at least to project an air of serenity even if she was an emotional wreck inside, and it was a sign of just how upset she was that she allowed her unhappiness to reach her voice at all.

The Doctor squirmed his way free and sat up, dusting his hands and peering directly into her eyes. "For that, yes, but mostly for — well, for how patient you've been with me during these rather trying times."

She blinked, trying not to show her confusion. "Oh. Don't worry about it."

He reached out and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "But I do worry, Nyssa. I don't want you to think that because of the…recent changes…I've undergone that I don't care about you, about what you've been trying to deal with whilst I fence with the Master and try to help Tegan and Adric. I don't want you to think you're not a priority."

She gave him a tremulous smile, feeling her spirits lift at his words. He understood exactly how she was feeling and what she was going through, and knowing that helped more than she could say. "I know, Doctor. Don't worry about me, not right now. We need to find Adric and save him."

"Perhaps once you're done playing nurse to my, ahem, doctor, you wouldn't mind giving Tegan a thorough looking over, to confirm that there are no other side effects of her transformation?" he continued after squeezing her shoulder lightly and half-turning to open up a bright green tool box and peer into it consideringly. "I suspect she'll have been given a longer life span, but I want her to be assured that there are no other nasty surprises in store for her."

He kept his head down while he spoke, busily sorting through the assortment of tools the metal box contained, but Nyssa could tell it was because he didn't want to seem as if he were overly concerned about Tegan's health. "Of course," was all she said.

He nodded his thanks, grabbed a handful of delicate silver probes before exclaiming aloud and dropping them so they scattered across the floor. There was the faintest scent of singeing in the air, and Nyssa noticed with a gasp of alarm that the Doctor's hand appeared to have been burned. "What happened? Let me see," she demanded, dropping to her knees and crawling toward him.

He snatched his hand away from hers, placing it behind his back. "No need to worry, Nyssa, I'll be fine." As she gave him a disbelieving look he pulled his hand back out and showed her that the burns were already healing. "Apparently I am now unable to handle silver. It's one of the side effects of my condition I'd forgotten about." He looked down at the scattered probes ruefully. "However, I doubt I'll do so in future. Fortunately I seem to be able to heal even more rapidly than I normally do."

"What other side effects are there, so I'll know to look out for them?" Nyssa responded as she reached down and picked the probes up. "And what should I do with these? Are there more silver tools I'll need to remove so you don't burn yourself again?"

He appreciated how matter-of-fact she was being about the whole thing, she could tell by the casual way he responded to her questions. "There shouldn't be any more, but if you notice any when I'm not looking, sing out. As for other side effects…" He sighed. "Far too many to go into right now. When we've sorted out Adric's situation, I'll sit the three of you down for a comprehensive lecture on my condition."

Nyssa doubted Tegan would be willing to wait that long, but kept her thoughts to herself as she set the probes carefully to the side before inching back to where she'd been sitting before the Doctor's accident.

When he made as if to duck back under the console, however, he seemed to reconsider, pausing and turning back to face her. She gave him an enquiring look as he asked: "As for Tegan's medical exam…when you've finished, how would you feel about assisting me in some additional research, trying to see if there's anything that can be done to alleviate her condition?"

That was unexpected, and Nyssa admitted as much when she answered him. "Doctor, you said the scientists on Gallifrey have been searching for a cure for millennia; what do you possibly think I could add?"

He flashed an encouraging grin her way. "I believe someone else's perspective, a fresh eye, if you will, can yield results even when it appears everything that can be learned has been learned. You've an analytical mind and more than adequate scientific training to tackle the matter."

She nodded, feeling absurdly honored by the request as well as by the confidence the Doctor had in her in order to ask in the first place. "Yes, as long as you don't think Tegan will mind."

"Oh, I'm certain she'll appreciate any efforts on her behalf," he replied as his head once again disappeared into the console base, adding in a near mumble Nyssa had to strain to hear: "Especially if they don't come from me."

**oOo**

At that moment, the only thing Tegan would have appreciated was directions back to the Console Room or, barring that, a return trip to the bathing chamber she'd just left—and couldn't seem to find again. As before, her steps seemed to lead her around in circles until she was hopelessly lost—and the only door that she consistently found was the one to the Doctor's quarters.

With a huff of annoyance she glared at massive wooden portal confronting her. "Fine," she said aloud. "I get the hint. If I want to lie down and get rid of this headache, this is where you want me to do it."

No point in putting it off, now that she'd made up her mind. She took the two steps necessary to reach the handle grasped it, depressing the latch with her thumb.

Nothing happened. She could practically feel her blood pressure rising as she glared at the uncooperative door, giving it another useless tug. "Look, you keep leading me back here, the least you can do is let me open the bloody door," she snarled.

She yelped as what felt like an electric shock suddenly engulfed her hand. As quickly as it happened, it was over with. Before she could snatch her hand away, however, her thumb had once again depressed the latch…

…and this time, the door swung open as easily as if she hadn't just been fighting against it.

"Thanks," she muttered as she walked into the room, bracing herself for the overdone Gothic architecture and furnishings. She felt silly, talking to a machine, but it had become increasingly obvious that the TARDIS was something more than that.

It became even more obvious as she stared around the Doctor's quarters, or what she assumed was the Doctor's quarters. The entrance door and ramp leading to it looked exactly the same, but everything else had undergone a radical transformation since she'd last been here.

Gone were the stone walls and massive wooden furniture, the candle sconces and blood-red draperies and cushions. The fireplace remained, but it had shrunk to a reasonable size, with a cheery fire set in the grate instead of the roaring furnace it had formerly held.

There was still a table and two chairs, but they no longer looked as if they were meant to seat giants. The wood had lightened to a golden oak, the legs were delicate and lacked the ornate carving they'd sported before, and the cushions were now a light purple in shade, somewhat reminiscent of the colors of her air hostess uniform.

That shade was carried over to the bed, which was still oversized but no longer so high it required steps to reach it. The canopy and coverlet were slightly darker purple than the chair cushions, the pillow cases were an even lighter shade, and the whole thing now resembled something closer to the early Victorian rather than the middle ages. There were small bedside lamps – electric or at least what passed for electric on the TARDSI— set into either side of the headboard, with a matching pair on either side of the wardrobe opposite the bed's foot, all of them dim enough not to bother her headache.

Nice touch, that. Still, there was enough light for her to appreciate that the wood making up the bed and the wardrobe and trunk were the same golden oak of the table and chairs, the entire effect much more restful than it had been before.

Even the walls had reverted to the plain white with roundels she'd grown accustomed to in the rest of the TARDIS. There were still wall hangings decorating it here and there, but instead of massive, dark medieval tapestries they were smaller, lighter, depicting sunny meadows and rustic landscapes that coordinated beautifully with the purple fabric on bed and chairs.

There were two additional doors; when she felt emboldened enough to investigate, she saw that one led to a bathroom and the other to a very masculine looking study. Late Victorian, she decided, viewing it with an artist's eye. Dark and over-decorated but nowhere near as Gothic as the bedroom had been.

And obviously meant strictly for the Doctor's use. She backed out of the room and shut the door. At least the bathroom was large and, to her eyes, modern; clean and white and neutral as the bath in a hotel. Impersonal, that was the word she was groping after.

She returned her attention to the main bedroom, cataloguing the rest of the differences. The floor was fully carpeted now, rather than covered by haphazard heaps of Turkish rugs, a light cream so plush she felt as if she were sinking into it. She hadn't bothered with her shoes after leaving the tub and redressing herself. But she had taken the pills that had been left for her, hesitating only a moment before shrugging and swallowing them down; if the TARDIS was willing to provide them, she wasn't going to turn them down. Surely it knew — if an inanimate object could be said to "know" anything — what medicine was safe for Tegan to take?

Mentally throwing her hands up in the air, she acknowledged defeat. Nothing about her life made sense right now, and it wasn't going to help her pounding head to keep trying to sort things out. What she needed, very badly, was sleep.

And if she was lucky, when she woke up she'd find that this had all been nothing but a very, very bad dream.

**oOo**

The Doctor paused on the threshold of his quarters; something was…off. The door remained closed, it remained the oversized wooden barrier that belonged in a ruined castle instead of on his TARDIS at the end of a hallway lit only by torches…but something was different. Something had changed, but what?

He shrugged. Whatever it was, it was going to have to wait. He'd only stopped by to retrieve a piece of equipment he'd left here. Trying to track the Master through the Vortex was futile at best, but he had to do something. Adric deserved better than the treatment he'd been subjected to since they'd left Logopolis.

He grasped the handle and pressed him thumb firmly on the latch and was halfway through the door when he realized that it had given him what felt like a mild electric shock when he touched it. Interesting; he'd never felt anything like that before; was it because of his altered biology? But then, why hadn't it shocked him when he first opened the door and brought Tegan here? Of course, his mind had been on other things, his body still in the process of regenerating, but still, he should have noticed…

Ah, that was it. The room had been reconfigured yet again; apparently the TARDIS had realized that the horror movie setting wasn't appreciated.

But why was Tegan sleeping on his bed, when there were literally hundreds of other rooms she could have chosen to rest in? Why come back here — and how had she gotten in? Even if she'd left the door open before joining him in the Console Room it should have closed and sealed itself automatically since he was no longer in the room. That was the point of having isomorphic controls built into the handle.

Unless the TARDIS had removed the controls when she'd reconfigured the door…no, she wouldn't have done that. She knew how important it was to him to have a private space that others — friends or enemies — couldn't stumble into accidentally.

"Ah," he said softly as understanding dawned. He regarded Tegan's sleeping form consideringly. The TARDIS had allowed her to enter, had undoubtedly altered the isomorphic controls to allow for a second person's genetic structure to activate them.

It made sense; after all, the two of them were locked in a symbiotic relationship now, and would need access to each other at all times. Well, perhaps not after they had entered into a mutually agreeable feeding pattern...

He grimaced. Best not put it to Tegan that way. He would have to try and find acceptable euphemisms to use until — if — they ever found a way to reverse her condition.

Which, he vowed, he would never stop looking for. Even if his own condition couldn't be altered — and there was no guarantee that regenerating would turn him back into a normal Time Lord again, history told him that much — he would do whatever he could to try and get her back to the life that had been so rudely hijacked.

Yes, she'd entered the TARDIS and so could be said to carry some of the blame for what happened afterwards, but that was a specious argument at best and he knew it. No, there was only one person to blame in all this.

Himself.

He shook off the introspective melancholy into which he'd fallen as he sat carefully on the edge of the slightly smaller — and much less ostentatious — bed and continued to study Tegan's sleeping form.

She was so much easier to deal with in repose, so peaceful and quiet…it crossed his mind that he could offer to place her into stasis until a cure was found for her condition, but he immediately dismissed it as the nonsense it was. Tegan wasn't a problem to be dealt with, she was a living, breathing Human being. He felt ashamed of himself for even considering the idea, but honestly, who could blame him? Tegan was irritating, her voice grated on his nerves, she got under his skin the way very few beings could, she shouted a great deal and didn't listen even when it was clearly in her best interest to do so…

And there was something else. Something he'd much rather deny. His physiological reaction to her naked body pressed against his…he could try to explain it away as an artifact of the regeneration process, but he knew the truth.

Simply put, he was attracted to her. He wanted her, and not just because she was his Sanguinaria, nor was it simply because he was now a vampire, much as he'd like to blame the attraction he felt on that.

No, the truth was, he'd had an immediate, visceral reaction to her even while still in his fourth incarnation, although his usual self-control had been firmly in place at the time. He'd noted the attraction, filed it away as an unnecessary distraction, something he'd never do anything about since she wasn't going to be in his life long enough for it to matter, and buried it deep within his subconscious.

Until the two of them were lying together in his bed.

Naked.

He didn't need this, didn't need an internal struggle for control over a basic biological need — a need his people had successfully transformed into something that could be turned on and off at will millennia ago. Nor, he thought, would Tegan welcome it.

_Stop lying to yourself,_  his conscience scolded him.  _You've been inside her mind; you know damn well that you regenerated into exactly the physical type Tegan finds most attractive, even if she would rather die than admit it to your face. Because you're still an alien and a vampire in a position of power over her, and she would just accuse you of trying to take advantage of her if you ever acted on that mutual attraction._

She would, too. Even if, deep down, he knew it was exactly what she wanted to happen.

Their lives were complicated enough without adding sex to the mix; he might not have indulged himself very often over the long centuries of his life, but he was no innocent virgin, either. And he knew that giving in to his sexual attraction to Tegan would just make a difficult situation even worse.

Fretting over it wasn't going to accomplish anything, either; he'd come back to his room in search of the bilateral multiphase scanner, so he'd better find it and get out before Tegan woke up and saw him brooding over her like some obsessed anti-hero from a gothic novel.

In fact, it would probably be best if he avoided her all together, at least until his altered biology drove him to seek her out.

And wasn't  _that_  going to be a fun encounter.


	6. A Private Little War

Approximately two Earth-length hours passed before the Doctor felt the first, faint stirrings of hunger disturbing his concentration. It was a sensation he was not unfamiliar with, although it rarely affected him as strongly as it appeared to affect others. Adric, for example, seemed close to perishing if he didn't eat four or five times a day.

As a Time Lord, however, he was used to ignoring his body's needs long past the ability of other species to do so. Hunger, sleep, sex…they were all easy to shut down until he was ready to deal with them. Or ignore them. In the case of sex, he'd managed to avoid having anything to do with it nearly all his adult life after his first incarnation left Gallifrey. The most notable exception, of course, being his trysts with Romana; both her selves had been delightfully interested in exploring a side of physicality most Time Lords shunned…

Why, he wondered irritably as he broke  _that_  thought off before it progressed any further, was he thinking about sex at all, when he was in the middle of testing out the reconfigured scanner? Especially since what had initially distracted him from his task was the gnawing sensation of hunger, not any kind of sexual desire?

As if his thoughts were directly linked to his digestive system, he felt a second surge of hunger, stronger than the first but still easy enough to ignore as he tried to return to what he was doing. What was happening outside his body was much more important than what was happening internally, and he wasn't going to let his altered biology dictate to him any more than he'd allowed his normal biology do so.

At least, that was his intention. To his distress, barely another hour passed before he discovered that even his considerable will wasn't strong enough to overcome the new needs of his body. Faint stirrings of hunger had become insistent cravings; when Nyssa walked back into the room with a sheaf of paper printouts in her hands, he nearly lunged at her, feeling his already lengthened canines erupting further at the enticing scent of her blood.

He held himself back only by exerting every ounce of self-control he still possessed, fighting the deluge of sensations threatening to overwhelm his higher reasoning functions—it wasn't only the scent of her blood, intoxicating enough on its own, but how he could hear it thundering through her veins, practically taste it on his tongue…and wouldn't it be different than Tegan's Human blood, have its own, unique flavor coming from a Trakenite? He practically salivated at the thought.

Nyssa had her head bent over the printout, apparently too lost in her perusal to notice the outward physical signs of his internal struggle—the way his hands were shaking, sweat beading on his brow, his own pulse hammering in his neck and setting his hearts to thrumming in a way he'd never experienced before.

He barely noticed as he dropped the calibration spanner he'd been holding, eyes fixated on Nyssa's throat, almost hypnotized by the beat of her own, much quieter pulse.

The noise of the spanner clattering to the floor caught her attention. She looked up sharply, gasping and stumbling to a halt as she stared at him. "Doctor, what's wrong? Your eyes, they've gone red!"

"It's nothing…I'll be fine," he managed, although it was an effort considering that his fangs were now long enough to seriously impede his speech. He tried to will them back to their former length, to no avail. Apparently his body needed to be fed NOW and there was nothing he could do about it. "I have to go…" Then he turned and fled the Console Room, there was no other way to put it, leaving Nyssa gaping at him through the door he left ajar in his haste to avoid doing something unfortunate to her.

**oOo**

Nyssa continued to stare at the half-opened interior door long after the Doctor had vanished from sight. He clearly wasn't "fine," no matter what he said. Equally obvious, at least to her, was that his reddened eyes had nothing to do with fury this time.

Where had he gone? What had set him into such a state? She did her best to shake off her concern and focus on what might have caused the Doctor's agitation.

He wasn't angry. That was fact one. Fact two was that he'd been shaking, his eyes red, and his canines extended…ah, that was it. Hunger. He'd let it go too long, had no doubt tried to ignore his body's needs the way he could under normal circumstances, only to discover that his altered physiology wouldn't allow for such self-denial.

A glance down at the print-out of Tegan's medical exam revealed what she should have noticed before; elevated blood levels, not to the point of danger, but certainly a sign that her body was preparing to serve its new function. When she'd first looked at the data, it hadn't occurred to her to think of it as a warning sign, merely confirmation of Tegan's new biological reality.

What she'd forgotten was the purpose to which that new biology was meant to be put.

"Oh, dear," she said softly, clutching the papers to her chest as the implications finally sank in past the enforced clinical detachment she'd needed to puzzle out the Doctor's current, disquieting, condition. The Doctor was hungry, almost past the ability to control himself. Ravenous, even.

The Doctor was seeking out Tegan, in order to feed.

And Tegan had no idea what was about to happen, because Nyssa had been focused on assuring her that the only physiological changes she would experience were the increase in blood production and the possibility that she would live a longer than Earth-normal lifespan. That had been as much as Tegan seemed able to take in at the time, since she'd abruptly excused herself and virtually fled the medical bay, saying something about finding something decent to wear.

At least that gave her a clue where to look. She raced out of the Console Room, determined to reach Tegan before the Doctor — who would have no clue where she was — and warn her.

**oOo**

" _I'm sorry, Tegan, it seems the Doctor was right. Your body chemistry has definitely been altered from the Human norm, resulting in an ability to periodically generate much greater quantities of blood."_

Tegan was in the wardrobe room, trying to distract herself from the devastating news Nyssa had delivered to her. Everything the Doctor had described to her was true; she was nothing now but a walking, talking blood bank, genetically altered for his personal use.

She threw the shoe she'd been holding against the wall, then tried to get herself under control. The sliver of hope that she wasn't trapped in this new, unwanted life had been torn away with Nyssa's words, and no amount of compassion was going to help her accept her new role.

He was a vampire, and she was his Sanguin-something-or-other and there was nothing she could do to change those facts. Except cling to the one other sliver of hope she'd been offered, that a cure would be sought — as soon as Adric was rescued. Which, she prayed, as sincerely as she'd ever prayed for anything, would be soon. For both their sakes.

She dropped down to her knees and busied herself sorting through the pile of clothing she'd tossed onto the floor to try on. She pulled something out at random, a deep green mini-dress with lighter green vertical stripes for contrast, then jumped back to her feet and held it against her, casting a critical eye on it before half-turning to look at her reflection in the three-way mirror.

She froze in mid-turn, a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye catching her attention, bringing her gaze to the doorway.

The Doctor was standing there, staring at her with the intensity of a shipwrecked sailor sighting shore. Or a starving man presented with a feast. But what transfixed her was his eyes; they'd turned a deep, glowing red, the way they'd looked when he'd confronted the Master.

Her initial annoyance at seeing him mere hours after he'd been so dismissive of her in the Console Room faded, overwhelmed by a growing anxiety; there was no reason for him show up here wearing his "angry eyes"…unless he wasn't actually angry.

She backed up a step, tearing her eyes away from his in order to take in the details of his appearance: the way the tips of his fangs now protruded over his lower lip, the sound of his breath, coming in ragged gasps as if he'd just run a marathon, the sweat dripping from his forehead, the tension that radiated off him in palpable waves... She moaned out a 'no' as she realized that the moment she'd been dreading had finally arrived; he needed her blood. The sluggishness and faint headache she'd been feeling for the past several hours — and determinedly ignoring — were in reaction to her own body going into blood-production overdrive to ready itself for what was about to happen.

She backed up another step as the Doctor used one hand to push himself off the door frame he'd been leaning against, as if he'd needed it to support himself. Judging by the tremors that periodically shook his body, that wasn't too far from the truth. But it was his eyes she couldn't tear her gaze away from, horrified and fascinated at the same time by the orbs that were so eerily altered by his hunger. As they had been in the Console Room, his whites had gone a deep red that seemed to tint his normally-blue irises to a deep purple and practically made his pupils disappear. Or had they shrunk down to pinpoints too small to see?

He stumbled forward another step and she shrank back, unable to tell if there was any awareness driving him, or if it was going to be regeneration all over again, with him all but attacking her and her helpless to stop him.

Perhaps not. He came to an abrupt stop, visibly taking control of himself, causing her to wonder exactly how much it must be costing him not to simply grab her and start…feeding.

She shuddered at the visual that brought; even the restored memory of what had happened during regeneration wasn't enough to prepare her for this moment. He was going to bite her on the neck and suck out her blood; never mind that her body would produce more, never mind that he'd assured her the process wouldn't turn her into a vampire. Logic and reason had never driven her so much as emotion and impulse, and both were urging her to run.

Still, she managed to hold her ground against the fight-or-flight reaction seeing him had invoked. "Doctor, please," she found the voice to say, although she wasn't sure what she was pleading for. More time? Judging by the increasing severity of the tremors passing over his body the longer he held himself away from her, that ship had well and truly sailed. And what else could she be asking for? To be left alone was impossible; she felt a hot tide surge over her, as if her own, traitorous body was now urging her to let him do what he so obviously needed to do.

"Rabbits," she hissed out, her personal strongest swear — in spite of a lifetime of being exposed to Uncle Vic's colorful and varied supply of expletives. She forced herself to say the words the Doctor clearly needed to hear. "Just…come here, Doc, and get it over with."

She thought she saw a flash of gratitude cross his features before he moved, so quickly she could barely see him, so quickly it felt more like she'd blinked and suddenly found him right in front of her. Another vampire ability, no doubt, since she'd he'd never shown such speed in her admittedly limited exposure to him; certainly if he'd been able to move with such rapidity before regeneration he would have managed to save himself from falling in the first place.

That was all she had time to think before his shaking hands were on her, tugging her blouse down over one shoulder, ripping the seam in his impatience, grasping and pulling at the necklace she'd perversely decided to keep wearing in spite of the fact that she found it in poor taste, at best.

The clasp gave way beneath his fingers, the blood drop-shaped beads rattling to the floor as he lowered his head to her neck, brushing his lips over her pulse point in what felt like a soft kiss before sinking his fangs deep within her and sucking greedily at her blood.

**oOo**

Blind instinct had brought the Doctor to the wardrobe room; how else to explain the way he'd zeroed in on Tegan's location without having the faintest idea when he left the Console Room where he'd find her? He'd paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of her while trying to find the best way to announce his presence — and explain why he was there.

She saved him the trouble by looking up from the dress she'd been examining and catching a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye.

Her first reaction upon sighting him was annoyance, which quickly morphed into anxiety as she realized why he'd sought her out. He could sense the emotions as well as see them on her face, as if the link he'd opened between them during the stabilization period was still in effect. Or perhaps he was simply so attuned to her now because of their mutual need that she was even more of an open book to him than before.

Mere speculation and therefore pointless. The only thing that mattered was his need to sate his ever-increasing hunger, but the way she backed away from him was like a dash of cold water in the face; it brought him back to himself enough to force himself to stop, to wait until she gave permission for him to approach her.

The eternity that took to happen was no doubt in reality only seconds, but for once his time sense was skewed, overwhelmed by primal instincts he'd never been forced to deal with before. The first time he'd fed on Tegan's blood he'd literally had no control over himself, and thus everything had happened at lightning speed, no lapse between the onset of hunger and its satiation. The second time had been nearly the same, only with him fully cognizant of his actions — and Tegan still unconscious and thus unaware of what was happening to her.

Now, although his control was rapidly slipping away, it hadn't completely vanished, and so he tried to keep his movements slow and deliberate once he found himself directly in front of her.

Tried, and only barely succeeded. The scent of her blood, the sound of it thundering throughout her veins, nearly drove him out of his mind as the hunger roared through his consciousness, demanding his full and undivided attention, raging at him to stop screwing around and just TAKE HER.

His last conscious act was lowering his head to her neck and pressing his lips to her pulse point in an apologetic kiss before instinct completely overwhelmed him and his fangs punctured the fragile layer of skin that was the last remaining barrier between him and what he so desperately craved.

**oOo**

Nyssa skidded to a halt as she reached the wardrobe room door, heart pounding, not wanting to just burst in on Tegan. But as she peered into the room, she realized with a sinking heart that it was too late for the warning she'd hurried to give; the Doctor was already there.

He was standing in front of Tegan, who looked frightened but had obviously already figured out what he needed from her. She was tilting her head to one side as he tore off the necklace she'd been wearing and lowered his face to her neck.

Nyssa backed away, certain that neither participant in the grisly ritual would want her observing them, even if she could convince them — and herself — that it was only out of concern for their well-being that she did so. Even though the Doctor was feeding rather than doing anything more salacious, it still felt as if she were peeping at something far more intimate.

Before turning and fleeing, however, she forced herself to look back one last time, to reassure herself that Tegan — and the Doctor — were showing no signs of distress.

Afterwards, she chastised herself for that look back, for turning a legitimate desire to know that her friends were all right into what amounted to a voyeuristic experience.

She saw Tegan's eyes close and her arms come up to rest on the Doctor's shoulders as she faltered a bit, saw the Doctor's arms enfold her and shortly thereafter heard the sound of him beginning to take in her blood.

Both looked flushed, heated — the Doctor from hunger and Tegan possibly from the excess blood her body was producing — but there was something about the way their sweat-streaked bodies were pressed so closely together, the way Tegan's hands weren't so much resting on the Doctor's shoulders as clutching them, and, most telling, the expression of pleased surprise on Tegan's face, that brought to mind another, less sinister and more…erotic… interpretation of what she was witnessing.

Face flaming, she left them to their mutual need, hurrying back to the medical bay. It wouldn't hurt to go over Tegan's exam results again. Nor would it hurt to do see what she could discover about sanguiferous regenerations beyond what the Doctor had shared with her, if such information was to be found in the TARDIS databases, now that she knew what to look for.

Anything to get her mind off the insidious fact that what she'd just witnessed had some extremely sexual overtones she wasn't remotely comfortable thinking about.

**oOo**

Tegan gasped as she felt the Doctor's mouth on her throat, her hands going up automatically to grasp his shoulders as she wobbled on her feet. Without appearing conscious of her sudden instability, he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, pressing her against his body, which was now radiating a feverish heat even hotter than her own elevated temperature.

This encounter was as overwhelming as their first, but without the accompanying pain of the changes being forced on her by the regenerative energy in which she'd been engulfed. In fact, except for the initial shock of his fangs sinking into her skin, she found this encounter to be rather…nice. Very nice, in fact, she decided as a haze of pleasure spread throughout her body, a sort of tingling and prickling with strong overtones of the kind she normally associated with the initiation of sexual activity.

Before that thought could do more than vaguely alarm her, it slipped away as her mind went fuzzy. While the Doctor continued to nuzzle her neck ( _no,_ some part of her dimly remembered, _he was feeding on her blood, not trying to get her off_ ) she found herself on the edge of a very inviting abyss, one that promised the comfort of temporary oblivion if she'd just let herself go.

And why shouldn't she? She was tired of being frightened and angry and worried. To let it all go was so very, very tempting that she found it impossible to resist. With a sigh of capitulation, she closed her eyes and fell limp in the Doctor's strong embrace as liter after liter of blood left her body and entered his through the medium of the warm, sensual movements of his mouth against her throat.

**oOo**

The Doctor came back to himself, replenished and restored by Tegan's blood, just in time to keep her from sliding out of his grasp and collapsing to the floor. Alarmed, he eased her the rest of the way down, kneeling down to cradle her in his arms as he put his fingers to her pulse, terrified he'd gone too far and killed her while unaware of his actions.

No, she was still alive; there was a pulse, faint, thready, but there, enough to keep her alive while her blood supply replenished itself. Although he'd told her that his saliva was the catalyst her body needed to slow blood production, he hadn't remembered to explain that it also worked to restore it when necessary.

Such as when an idiot such as himself had the arrogance to ignore what his body was telling him when he had no idea what the consequences of doing so might be.

He was shaken by how easily he'd lost control once his fangs pierced Tegan's skin, how quickly his hunger had overwhelmed him. Thank whatever powers that might exist he'd maintained enough control to stop himself before any permanent damage was done.

Not that Tegan was likely to thank him when she regained consciousness, he thought ruefully as he studied her pale, still features. The slight trickle of blood from the twin puncture marks on her neck had slowed and finally stopped while he watched, but the faint ghost of a smile still lingered on her lips.

At least she wasn't grimacing in pain; did that mean he hadn't hurt her? Well, obviously not or she wouldn't be smiling like that. And why, exactly,  _was_  she smiling? Nothing about the act of feeding or being fed upon was supposed to be pleasurable, at least not according to his hazy recollections of his studies on the subject matter. One more thing to add to his "to do" list: review the information available in the TARDIS database on the subject of sanguiferous regenerations.

Not that he expected to find anything there to explain Tegan's current, puzzling reaction to his feeding from her — Rassilon, how he  _loathed_  putting it that way — since he suspected it might have something to do with her being Human rather than Gallilfreyan.

A Human whose emotions appeared to always be very close to the surface. A Human who sometimes seemed to revel in her lack of control over herself, to pride herself on her ability to evoke a reaction out of others.

Especially when it came to him. She didn't seem to lose control nearly as much around Nyssa or Adric, although admittedly she hadn't spent that much time with them when they hadn't been running for their lives, or coming to terms with her becoming the 'personal moveable feast' of a vampire Time Lord, as she had so angrily put it.

Still, compared to Nyssa's naturally serene personality and even taking into account his experiences with Adric's occasional bouts of adolescent moodiness, when it came to emotional upheaval, Tegan was in a class of her own.

Not that he'd been a model of self-control during the short time that had passed since he'd regenerated. Far from it. He expected things like his volatile temper and reawakened libido to subside back to normal once he'd had some time to settle into his new face and form. Yes, his hunger had morphed into a wild creature rather than the tame little pet it had been in the past, but that was only because he'd tried to ignore it. Lesson one: No ignoring the hunger, he got that now, thank you very much, and wouldn't forget it. Ever.

He shifted uncomfortably as he realized he'd been just sitting on the wardrobe floor, brooding with Tegan in his arms, surrounded by the litter of clothing she had been sorting through when he should be getting her to bed for some proper rest. And of course there was the question of having enough restoratives on hand for her; strong, sweet tea as well as juice, and perhaps he could see if one of the TARDIS pantries might be hiding some  _pomjit_  fruit as well. It was high in the necessary proteins as well as being an excellent source of sugar. He'd have to ask Nyssa…

Nyssa. He'd completely forgotten how he'd essentially fled from her in the Console Room; even though he'd lied and said he was fine, she must have known better. No doubt she was worried sick by now. He only hoped she hadn't come looking for them; he had no sense that he'd been watched at any point during the time he'd spent feeding. He winced; really, he needed a different word to use. Not that he could remember much of anything once he'd fastened his lips on Tegan's neck, but still. He strongly suspected that the Earth woman would not appreciate an audience during such an…intimate…moment.

Nor, to be honest, would he. This whole thing was going to take a long time for him to adjust to, and no doubt even longer for Tegan, but even if decades passed he suspected he'd still prefer to do his feeding ( _exsanguinating?  bloodletting? consuming? drat, nothing sounded right!_ ) in private.

He shifted Tegan in his arms, settling her more securely against her chest as he gathered his legs beneath him and rose to his feet, trying to jostle her as little as possible as he did so.

She gave a soft sigh and nestled her head trustingly against his chest; he felt his breath catch as her lips parted before settling back into the small smile she'd been wearing since he'd come back to himself. How had he never noticed how lovely she was before — and why, the analytical part of his brain demanded in return, was he taking the time to notice it now, when he'd already delayed getting her back to bed this long?

He paused in the wardrobe room's doorway, suddenly irresolute. Where, exactly, was he going to take her? She'd been given no room of her own, at least, not yet, and he didn't want to just put her somewhere at random. He could ask Nyssa's advice, but that would involve a side trip to the Console Room on the off chance she was still there.

No, his best bet was to take her back to his quarters. She'd already woken up there several times, which gave it the dubious advantage of at least being familiar surroundings.

Well, semi-familiar, since the TARDIS had taken it upon herself to once again change things around. But if she'd refrained from doing so for a third time, then at least Tegan would recognize the room she'd last woken up in and, hopefully, not be too disoriented.

Mind made up, he gave a firm nod, hitched Tegan more securely in his hold, and headed for his quarters.

**oOo**

A rustling of sheets, the slight movement of an auburn-haired head, the hint of a sigh; Tegan was awake. Finally.

The Doctor had been in and out of the room numerous times while she slept: investigating the two new doors that had appeared in his newly-altered quarters (a very nice study and a bathroom with a completely unnecessary - for him - toilet); popping in on the Console Room to try and fidget the scanners again (no luck); seeing if he could find Nyssa (in the medical bay, head down over a computer screen and therefore, he convinced himself, not worth bothering); and eventually puttering about the nearest food storage pantry and cooking area and putting together a meal for someone who'd just had the majority of their blood sucked out of them and was probably at best only halfway through the restoration process.

She captured his attention as she stirred and stretched, his eyes following the lines of her limbs, the slight rising and falling of her breasts as she breathed, entranced by her languorous movements. As his eyes followed the line of her body upwards to her neck and then her face, however, he realized how very fortunate he was that it was there his attention had focused when she finally opened her eyes.

She froze in mid-stretch as memory obviously came rushing back, and the Doctor hastily reached for the tea set he'd fetched and offered her a cup before she could say anything. "Drink up, you'll feel much better, I promise."

She eased herself into a sitting position, and he resisted the urge to assist her even though it was obvious she could use help. But he let her struggle up and lean against the pillows by herself, knowing it was the right thing to do.

But he did help her bring the tea cup to her lips when her hands trembled so badly it clattered on the saucer and would have spilled if he hadn't steadied her. She nodded her thanks, although he could see the resentment in her eyes and felt a flash of irritation of his own; why couldn't she understand that this was the way things had to be now and just… _accept_  it?

She finished the tea without speaking, and he remained silent as well. After all, what was there to say? "How do you feel, Tegan, can I do anything to help?" Oh, he could imagine the snappish responses questions like  _that_  would receive.

Instead he offered her some of the  _pomjit_  fruit he'd managed to scare up. Tegan hesitated before taking one, examining the plate of green, purple-spotted ovals suspiciously. "They're quite delicious, Tegan, and safe to eat. I promise."

She nodded and brought one to her lips, taking a cautious nibble.

A blissful expression spread across her face as she proceeded to stuff the entire fruit into her mouth—it wasn't much larger than her thumb — and reached for another. As she chewed and swallowed she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye before speaking. "Doctor, these are marvelous, what do you call them?"

" _Pomjit_  fruit. Native to Gallifrey. I thought you might like them," he replied. He kept to himself the information that they had been genetically engineered specifically to help speed a Sanguinaria's recovery after severe blood loss.

She seemed much more alert after just eating one, her hands noticeably steadier, which meant it worked as quickly and efficiently on a Human as it did on a Gallifreyan. Good.

"Well, they're delicious no matter where they come from," she declared, popping the second fruit into her mouth and chewing it enthusiastically.

Some of the juice dripped down her index finger. The Doctor felt his mouth go dry as she stuck out her tongue and licked her finger, then popped the tip between her lips and sucked the last of the deep green juice from it.

He knew he was staring at her, his eyes fixed on her mouth and finger as if hypnotized, but he couldn't help himself, any more than he could help the speeding of his hearts or the light sweat that beaded across the back of his neck.

Nor could he help the visual that flashed through his mind as he bolted to his feet and backed away from her:  _Tegan, lying on his bed wearing nothing but a welcoming smile and a thin layer of_ pomjit _juice, while he licked his way up her body …_

He mumbled some excuse and made his way out of the room as quickly and with as much dignity as he could manage, feeling Tegan's bemused stare on him the entire way.

He left the door ajar, knowing it would remain open even if he left the room, now that it had been calibrated to Tegan's biosigns as well as his. He was desperate to ask Nyssa to keep an eye on her until she'd fully recovered from her blood loss.

And after that?

He was going to find the nearest bathing chamber— _not_  the one now attached to his private quarters—and take a long, cold shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for forgetting to post a chapter yesterday, I will be posting two today. Please forgive my lapse!


	7. The Changeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a second chapter for today. Enjoy!

**Interlude**

"This will never work, you know. The Doctor's too clever to fall for something so obvious."

 _Rassilon, did the boy never shut up?_  

"There's nothing to tell him you inserted the information into the database. He'll believe it, never fear."

The Master hoped his confident tone would silence the wretched pup, but all it seemed to do was spur him to greater efforts. "No, really, why should he believe it? He knows you forced me to send that Block Transfer Calculation onto the TARDIS, he'll never believe it didn't do anything except spy on them and connect the two scanners."

The Master turned to face his prisoner, trapped in an elaborate energy web against one wall of his TARDIS control room. Fortunately it also served as a stasis beam, else he'd have to free the brat periodically to use the toilet and eat something. Unfortunately he did need him conscious and coherent, else he'd have stuffed a sock in his constantly-flapping mouth hours ago.

Something to work out in the next version of the weapon, when he felt like sparing time to tinker with it. "Shut up," was all he said as he stalked closer and glared directly into the boy's frightened brown eyes.

In spite of that fear, the youngster firmed his chin and returned the stare. "What makes you so sure he'll even bother seeking outside help to cure Tegan? He's the Doctor, he's brilliant, I'm sure the only reason a cure's never been found before is because he never put his mind to it…"

"No, the reason no cure has ever been found before is because Miss Jovanka is the first Human to ever serve a Time Lord as Sanguinaria," the Master snapped, irritated as much by the boy's dog-like devotion to his insipid enemy as by his refusal to be glared into silence. "Therefore no research has ever been done on the matter and the Doctor will have to look for help outside the information contained in his TARDIS database." He leaned his face closer, until the boy flinched away. Good. That was the type of reaction he wanted, not pitiful attempts at defiance. "And then they will go exactly where I want them to and the Doctor will find he has finally given one too many hostages to fortune."

With a chuckle, he turned away and returned to his console, leaving a much subdued prisoner behind him to ponder his words…and despair.

**The Doctor's TARDIS**

Nyssa knocked gently at the half-open door to the Doctor's quarters. When she received no immediate response, she peeked around the wooden barrier to see if perhaps Tegan had fallen back asleep.

She hadn't; she was sitting up in the middle of the Doctor's bed, arms wrapped around her knees, a pensive expression on her face. She looked up listlessly as Nyssa hesitated. "It's all right, you can come in." Then, with a burst of black humor: "I promise I won't bite."

Nyssa walked in, approaching the bed somewhat warily. As she reached the edge opposite the other woman, Tegan rested her head on her arms and regarded her out of half-closed eyes. "So what are you, the babysitter?"

Nyssa was unfamiliar with the term, but it did sound vaguely insulting. More insulting to Tegan, actually, who was presumably the baby, although why one would want to sit on a baby was beyond her. Still, she'd come at the Doctor's behest to make sure Tegan was recovering, so she ignored the question in favor of asking one of her own: "Did you rest well?"

"Slept like a baby," Tegan replied, continuing the metaphor, although in Nyssa's admittedly limited experience, most babies slept rather poorly. "Had a lovely cup of tea and some addicting fruit," she waved to indicate the plate of  _pomjit_  fruit, which Nyssa recognized from the TARDIS database, "and then…"

"And then what?" Nyssa prompted as she seated herself. Something was obviously bothering Tegan, and talking about it might help. Unless, of course it had something to do with the unsettling way Nyssa's mind kept trying to put a sexual interpretation on things every time she saw Tegan and the Doctor together… _no, don't go there. Not your business whether that interpretation is true or not._

Which, Nyssa was beginning to suspect, it might actually be.

Tegan lifted her head from arms and frowned as Nyssa resolutely forced her improper line of thinking back to the subject at hand. "And then…I'm not sure. The Doctor was acting very odd, he mumbled something about the scanner and bolted out of the room like I was poison."

"I'm sure he was just concerned about Adric," Nyssa offered, hoping it was true.

"Yeah, of course he was," Tegan replied, but she didn't look entirely convinced. Still, she shook herself and visibly put aside her desire to speculate on the Doctor's behavior in order to concentrate on the topic Nyssa had just introduced, which was all to the good as far as the other woman was concerned. "Has he had any luck, then? In finding the Master's TARDIS?"

Nyssa shook her head, sorry to have to deliver bad news for the second time that day. "Not yet, I'm afraid. The Doctor's made some changes to the scanner, tried to connect it to the TARDIS sensors so it can act as more than a communications device, but he hasn't been very successful in finding the proper wavelength."

"Well, he doesn't seem the sort to give up," Tegan replied, but there was an edge to her words, as if it meant something other than the encouragement it appeared to be. Before Nyssa could ask, however, Tegan had another question for her: "Have you been able to help?" Her lips twisted in a bitter, humorless smile. "I'm afraid I'm not much good with 'technical difficulties,' so I'm hoping one of us can be useful as something more than just a walking snack bar."

Nyssa winced inwardly; Tegan was in even worse shape than she'd imagined, and it seemed obvious that being fed upon was the immediate cause of her downturn in mood. When they had been in the medical bay she'd seemed determined to put on a cheerful front, even after the scans yielded up the disappointing results that yes, her physical condition was exactly as the Doctor had predicted. Which meant Tegan's description of herself as a "walking snack bar", while unflattering, was basically true. Which meant Nyssa could think of nothing to say to refute it.

Which meant all she could do was shake her head and answer the question behind the angst. "I've done all I can for now by bringing him the tools he needed, and sorting out the ones made of silver, although thankfully there weren't too many of those…"

That seemed to rouse Tegan from her black mood a bit. She gave Nyssa a puzzled look and asked: "Silver? Why would he have silver tools? And why would you need to sort them out?"

That led to a discussion of the Doctor's unpleasant physical reaction upon touching the handful of silver probes, which led to speculation about the "additional side effects" the Doctor had mentioned. This in turn lead to them discussing the results of Tegan's medical exam in more detail than the Earth woman had been ready to listen to earlier.

Further research had led to the discovery that the Doctor had been correct. Tegan would live much longer than the Human norm—live longer, and retain her youthful appearance and biology due to the slowing of the cellular decay all living beings experienced. "I double checked everything, Tegan, just as you asked me to," Nyssa assured her. "By my estimates, you'll live at least two hundred of your Earth years, perhaps longer, before showing any signs of aging. Your immune system's been boosted as well, so barring serious accidents, you could easily live three hundred years or more."

"Well! That's good news, indeed!"

The Doctor had entered the room while the two women were engrossed in their conversation, although Tegan was the only one to start at the sound of his overly-hearty voice. "What else did your scans show?" he asked, striding over to stand at the foot of the bed, hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans.

"That I'm definitely stuck as your meal of choice," Tegan snapped with a scowl.

Nyssa could feel the tension between the two of them and wished desperately that there was something she could do to alleviate it…but what? She could tell there was something more than just the traumatic nature of the changes regeneration had forced upon them, and her mind flashed to the memory of how sexually charged the feeding process seemed to her. Could she be right, was it something as simple — and infinitely complex — as unresolved sexual tension?

If that were the case, then her intervention would definitely not be welcome. Instead, she tried to change the subject back to the physical transformation Tegan had undergone. "Tegan's body chemistry has definitely been altered so that she can act as your Sanguinaria," she said. "I was just explaining about the positive benefits…"

"Yeah, I get to be the changeling in the crib," Tegan grumbled. "I'm sure those goblin babies lived longer than the Humans they replaced, too."

Nyssa understood the gist of Tegan's protest, if not the substance — what was a goblin and why was she continuing to bring babies into the conversation? — not that it mattered, since the point was obvious, that Tegan felt her life had been stolen away from her.

With an audible sigh, the Doctor regarded her with a look of long-suffering patience. She responded by crossing her arms and deliberately turning her face away from his.

"Tegan," Nyssa chided her gently, "this isn't the Doctor's fault, you know he didn't wish for this to happen to either of you…"

"Tegan is fully aware of that," the Doctor cut in, his words cold and clipped. "She simply chooses to ignore the facts and prefers to focus on the negatives. Since she's obviously recovered from our last…encounter…perhaps we should leave her to sulk in peace while you show me the complete results of her medical examination."

Nyssa gave him a level stare before rising to her feet. That was it; she was done. "Here," she said, thrusting the papers she'd been carrying about into his hands. "If you'll excuse me, I can tell you two have some issues to work out. I advise you do so."

Then she turned and marched out of the room at a dignified pace, pulling the door firmly shut behind her.

**oOo**

The Doctor regarded Tegan from beneath his lashes. Nyssa wasn't usually so unsubtle when it came to unpleasant interpersonal interactions; she must be deeply distressed by the obvious tension between himself and Tegan, else she'd simply have murmured an excuse and left the room without making it quite so clear that she expected them to sort themselves out.

He supposed his own snappish response hadn't helped any, but he was still struggling with his own emotions, and trying to help Tegan with hers wasn't making his attempts to control himself any easier.

He sat on the edge of the bed, near the spot Nyssa had just vacated, and allowed his eyes to wander around the room as he laid the papers on the counterpane. The lights were much brighter, the fire had died down a bit, and it appeared that Tegan had eaten nearly half the  _pomjit_  fruit. Good. At least if they were going to have a row, then she would be at full strength.

Not that he wanted a fight, but clearly she was spoiling for one and he wasn't sure he could manage to control his own temper if she continued to push him.

It certainly didn't help that he'd just spent another fruitless hour trying to find a way to trace the Master's TARDIS. The knowledge that Adric might be well and truly lost to them was a devastating blow. If they were forced to simply sit and wait until the Master crossed their path again before trying to rescue the young Alzarian, his own temper was likely to continue to degenerate.

Especially since it was becoming crystal clear to him that he was far less in control of everything about himself this regeneration, from mental discipline to bodily functions. When he was tired, he was going to have to sleep; when he was hungry, he was going to have to feed. And when he was sexually attracted to a woman…

That, at least, he should still be able to retain some measure of control over. Once he'd finished adjusting to this regeneration, once he'd become more used to his vampire nature…once his new body and mind had become fully acclimated to one another, emotional equilibrium was bound to follow, the way it always had in the past.

He'd certainly be better equipped to handle the conversation Nyssa seemed to think he needed to have with Tegan. Not that he disagreed; he and Tegan had a great deal to work out, but now was not the time. Not until he had himself firmly back under control.

True to her impatient nature, Tegan was the first to break the growing silence between them. Speaking as if to the fireplace, she snapped: "Well? D'you have something to say to me or not?"

"Rather a lot, actually, but none of it useful until we've each had a chance to sort ourselves out on our own," was his candid reply.

As expected, that seemed to catch her off-guard. She turned to face him, obviously surprised by his words. "And here I've been bracing myself for a lecture on how my bad behavior is affecting crew morale or some such rubbish."

"It's not rubbish, Tegan," he chided her. "Both of us are going to have to learn to deal with what's happened to us, to handle it much more…gracefully…than we have been so far. Although to be fair," he added, "it's been less than twenty-four Earth hours since my regeneration. It's early days still; I'm sure we'll manage to find a way to peacefully coexist once more time has passed. Things will become easier, I'm sure of it."

"For you, maybe," she muttered, but there was real despair underlying the sulky tone of her response.

That was something else he was going to have to investigate, the apparent ease with which he was able to sense Tegan's emotions. The mental list he'd started keeping of things to look into was growing rapidly; since he'd reached an impasse in his attempts to locate the Master, perhaps it was time do some in-depth research into his and Tegan's mutual situations.

But before he started, he needed to at least try to bring Tegan's spirits out of the death-spiral into which they were currently plunging. He stood up and walked over to her side of the bed — no, scratch that; the side of the bed on which she was sitting, she didn't actually have a side of his bed to be called "hers" — and squatted down on his heels in front of her, peering up at her face. "Try to keep a brave heart, Tegan," he said softly.

She managed a smile for him, her bad mood at least temporarily banished as he returned the smile. She reached out and he took her hand in his, giving it an encouraging squeeze. "I think…it might help, a bit," she said, her voice hesitant, "if there were, I dunno, some sort of user's manual, so I'll get a better idea of what to expect? I know I'm the first Human to get stuck this way," she added in a rush as his eyebrows slanted downward in an expression of doubt, "but even if there's only information meant for Time Lords, surely it can't hurt to read it?"

She'd already received one bitter disappointment today; far be it for him to add to that burden. "I'm sure there's something in one of the TARDIS libraries," he offered, instinct telling him she'd be far more comfortable with a book than a computer screen. "Shall we go have a look?" It would certainly help for her to have something to do other than brood over her situation. Idle hands, and all that.

Her eager nod told him he'd hit on the right idea. "I have some research of my own to do, and I promise, if I find anything that can help either one of us, I'll come directly and tell you."

"Thanks." Her smile this time was unforced, open, and lit up her entire face.

He felt himself swaying forward, lips parting as if in anticipation of a kiss, and pulled himself back sharply, forcing himself to confine himself to just offering his hand to help her to her feet. "We'll see about finding you a room of your own as well," he said, hoping she'd not noticed his little slip in control. "Someplace to keep that pile of clothes you were sorting through, hmm?"

The blush that heated her cheeks was something he could scent as well as see now, but since he wasn't remotely interested in feeding he was able to control the elongation of his fangs and force them back to their new normal. "Yeah, I made a right mess of your wardrobe room," she admitted. "I'll clear it up later, after you show me the library. If I can find it again," she added darkly, shooting a glare toward the ceiling.

He followed her gaze, puzzled, then put it down as one of her usual mercurial mood swings and released her hand. "Right, follow me, then," was all he said.

**oOo**

After the Doctor showed her the best way to reach the Console Room — Tegan was glad to see that the corridor leading to it was visibly wider than any of the other corridors she'd investigated and thus easier to follow — he led her to a small research library.

It was located at the end of a sort of cul-de-sac. There was another door besides the one they were interested in, as well as an open archway. Tegan glanced that way and saw what looked like a kind of sitting room: comfortable chairs, including a couple of beanbag chairs like the ones she remembered from her early teen years, low tables, and piles of reading material. Most of it, she noticed as she scanned some of the titles when curiosity lead her to do a bit of exploring, had to do with mathematics.

"Those are Adric's," the Doctor explained when she held one up with an inquiring look.

She put it right back down where she'd found it and backed up a step. "Sorry," she muttered, although she wasn't really sure why she was apologizing. There were bound to be reminders of Adric all over the TARDIS, since he'd been living here.

"He used — uses — this room as a sort of study lounge," the Doctor replied, the slight stutter over noun tense barely noticeable unless one was listening for it. "There's a food storage pantry, that's the door to your left when you leave, with a loo not too far down the main hall—left, I think," he added after a moment's hesitation. "And the door to our right, of course, is the library. Shall we have a look?"

Tegan followed him, but opened the food pantry for a quick peek in case she felt like snacking while reading. It appeared to be stocked entirely with a mind-boggling array of snack foods. No wonder, if this was Adric's usual hang-out; what teenaged boy could exist longer than an hour at a time without stuffing food into his face?

As she shut the door and headed after the Doctor into the library she couldn't help quipping: "And where's the TV room, then?" He glanced over his shoulder, looking quite confused. It was adorable, even taking into consideration that his lips hid a pair of fangs Dracula would envy. And what he could do with those lips…To divert her thoughts from traveling down Fantasy Highway, she hastily added: "Teenaged boy, snacks and comfy chairs…there's bound to be a TV for him to watch football matches, right?"

"Sorry, but I'm afraid the TARDIS isn't equipped to pick up television signals unless we're right on top of the planet broadcasting them," was his breezy — and somewhat fishy sounding, at least to Tegan's ears — reply.

She caught his arm as he opened the door to the library. "Wait, you mean I have to wait until we're back on Earth to catch up on  _Brideshead Revisited_?" she demanded, only half-joking. The mini-series was incredibly absorbing and only half of it had been televised so far.

"Sorry, you'll just have to wait for the boxed set," was the Doctor's extremely puzzling reply. Boxed set of what?

She wanted to pursue that subject—honestly, how did these people live without a little mindless telly watching to help them relax?—but kept quiet as she gazed around the library.

It certainly lived up to its name. The room was filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves, all crammed helter-skelter with books and what looked suspiciously like papyrus scrolls. There were also several comfortable-looking chairs, two of which were grouped around the fireplace — the second fireplace she'd seen on the TARDIS if you didn't count the transformed one in the Doctor's quarters as a third. Which she didn't.

The Doctor was going through the shelves at a rapid pace, glancing at titles, picking out one or two, putting some on the ottoman that was placed between the two wing-backed chairs in front of the fireplace before going back for others.

She left him to it and wandered back to the pantry. After a bit of fumbling, she managed to figure out how to get a glass of soda and a bag of what looked like pretzels before returning to see if he'd finished.

He had; the stack of books he'd found for her was dismaying small, or so she thought until she caught a glimpse of what she was letting herself in for. The titles alone would take hours to read through: S _ocial Ramifications Of Sanguiferous Regenerations Upon New Calendar Sanguinarias_ , read one _._ Another was  _Familial and Civil Position of Sanguinarias Through the Ranks - Proletariat, Bourgeoisie and Intelligentsia._ The more promising  _A_ _Life of Service - Notable Sanguinarias Throughout History_.

When she glanced up at the Doctor, her expression must have indicated her trepidation, because he gave her an apologetic smile. "They were never intended for general public consumption, I'm afraid. But they're written for undergraduate level reading so that should keep it from getting too rarefied."

She kept her mouth shut on her doubts about that, just thanked him and assured him she'd be fine when he asked if she minded being left alone while he did some research of his own.

After he'd gone she settled into one of the chairs, kicking off her shoes and reveling in the warmth of the fire. Not that the TARDIS was cold, but there was just something about curling up in front of a fireplace that warmed the soul as much as the body.

She picked up the first book on the pile and opened it at random. Written at an undergraduate level, had he said? "Undergraduate on what planet?" she muttered to herself as she scanned the page, understanding maybe one word in five…and most of those conjunctions and prepositions.

Gallifrey, of course, she reminded herself. Home of the high and mighty Time Lords. That thought brought a disdainful sniff out of her; what kind of egomaniacal idiots called themselves that, anyway?

Oh, she had to stop thinking spiteful thoughts about the Doctor and his people or she really would go mad. He seemed to be making an honest effort to help her adjust, and although she knew it would take her a long time to lose her resentment and fear she felt for what had happened to her, at least she wasn't facing it alone.

She had to keep reminding herself that she wasn't the only one who'd had her entire life upended, although to be honest, she doubted the Doctor would have to make as many adjustments as she would. Oh, he'd have to restrict his planetary visits to night-time jaunts, avoid silver and — would he have to worry about crosses as well, since he wasn't from Earth? Of course, neither were Nyssa and Adric; she supposed she'd have to get used to that as well.

She took a moment to marvel over the strange turn her life had taken, imagining how, if things were different, she could quite learn to enjoy jaunting about through time and space with her new…friends wasn't quite the right word, at least not where the Doctor was concerned. Companions? She decided that sounded about right. One day, maybe, they'd all be friends, once they got Adric back; she'd like that.

Just the four of them; herself, Nyssa, Adric…and the Doctor. Her own personal vampire. That brought her mind back full circle to speculating about his condition. He probably wouldn't have to worry about crosses, since he hadn't been bitten by a "real" vampire like the stories she'd grown up with. Yes, he had to drink blood to survive, and yes, he'd died and been reborn into this new form, but he still had a pulse, still breathed and showed other signs of exactly how alive he was.

Like getting an erection when he was holding a naked woman in his arms.

She exclaimed in disgust at the way her mind kept wandering back to that one, embarrassing moment right after he'd regenerated. Or how easily she could conjure the image of his nicely toned bare bum when he'd slipped out of bed in order to get dressed.

Or the downright sinful way his mouth felt against her throat when he was drinking her blood…or the way he'd looked at her when he held her hand after their last encounter in his quarters, as if he wanted to kiss her…

Which, of course, he hadn't. That was just her own overheated imagination interpreting things the way she secretly wanted them to be. "Get a grip, Tegan!" she snapped, then looked guiltily around the lounge. She was going to have to get out of the habit of talking to herself like this, no matter how crazy her life had become. Especially since the TARDIS seemed to be at least somewhat self-aware.

Aware enough to know what size clothes she wore, if the outfit she'd taken out of the Doctor's wardrobe was any indication. She reached up and fiddled with the torn fabric at her blouse's neckline; she really should have put on another blouse, but if her next encounter with a hungry Doctor went the same way the last couple of times had, anything she changed into was bound to end up in rags anyway.

She had to admit, there was something thrilling on a purely animal level about a man who couldn't control himself around her. If only it was because he wanted to make love to her instead of drinking her blood…

That was it. She really was going mad; she'd never been shy around men, but he was an  _alien_. An alien  _vampire_ , she reminded herself sharply. Doubly off limits.

She opened another book and held it up to her face resolutely. Maybe reading about her condition would help remind her where she stood in the food chain, so to speak.

And if that didn't work? Well, there was always the old stand-by for curing an overheated libido: a cold shower.


	8. This Side of Paradise

When the Doctor entered the main computer interface chamber, he was surprised to see Nyssa seated in one of the room's oversized chairs, half-nodding over the tablet-style data pad on her lap. And no wonder; it had been a long day and he was beginning to feel a bit tired himself.

She looked up and smiled as he approached, indicating the chair next to hers. He fell into it more heavily than usual as she spoke. "I'm glad you're here, Doctor. I think I've found something that might help you and Tegan."

"Excellent, Nyssa; I could use some good news right about now. And so could she," he added with a faint frown.

"Did your talk not go well?" Nyssa asked, her enthusiasm dimming.

He shook it off; Nyssa didn't need two moody companions haunting the TARDIS right now. "We came to a kind of a truce for the moment," was all he said. "But that's neither here nor there; what have you found out?" He nodded to indicate the data pad.

She offered it to him, and he took it and looked over the information she'd unearthed. Nothing about Tegan's condition per se, but the lead was, indeed, promising. "Castrovalva," he read. "A haven for scientific research, concentrating on medical, biological, biomechanical and biochemical disciplines…comprehensive medical database second only to the famed Matrix of Gallifrey." He raised his eyebrows at that comparison; they must be fairly advanced to have even heard of the Matrix, let alone dare to compare themselves to that singular repository of Time Lord data.

"It sounds like the perfect place to try and find a cure for Tegan's condition," Nyssa said eagerly. "A real scientific paradise! I'm sure we can find some way to describe what happened to her without revealing a connection back to Gallifrey or the contamination to the Time Lord genome."

Ah, so Nyssa had intuited what he'd deliberately left off mentioning; that the Time Lords wouldn't exactly be happy to know that outsiders had learned one of their deepest, darkest — and most shameful — secrets. "I appreciate your discretion, Nyssa. I just hope Tegan can be equally discreet."

"Where is she?" Nyssa accepted the data pad when he offered it to her; he'd already memorized the coordinates and would send the TARDIS to the planet in a day or two if the two of them couldn't make any headway on their own before then. He knew Tegan wouldn't be anxious to delay but he also needed the extra time to figure out his body's new sleeping and eating cycle; after all it wouldn't do to land somewhere only to find that he was overwhelmed by hunger or so tired he couldn't keep his eyes open.

"She's doing some research of her own," he said in answer to Nyssa's question, then examined her more closely, noting the tired droop to her head, the bags beneath her eyes, and hearing what sounded to his newly-heightened senses like a tired thump to her heart. "Nyssa, you're dead on your feet, I can tell. Why don't we get a fresh start tomorrow, and if nothing else turns up, we'll check out Castrovalva, how does that sound?"

"Wonderful," she admitted. "I am rather tired." When he made as if to rise, however, she placed a hand on his arm. "But first, I have to know. Have you made any progress in trying to find Adric?"

He'd been hoping she wouldn't bring that particular subject up, especially since he had nothing but more bad news. "No, I'm sorry. I've tweaked the scanner about as much as I can without rebuilding the blasted thing from scratch — and I may try that if nothing else works."

Nyssa must have been even more tired than he thought, since she didn't even try to hide her disappointment from either her voice or her expression. "I know there's nothing else we can do unless the Master deliberately chooses to reveal himself, but I hate feeling so…helpless," she confessed, lowering her head in dejection.

"So do I," the Doctor admitted. "I know it's small comfort at best, but remember, the Master took him for a reason. He said he had plans that require Adric's assistance, and that means he'll keep him alive and well. I fully expect to cross paths with him again, and when we do…" His voice trailed off, but the threatening gleam in eyes spoke volumes.

Nyssa simply shrugged and half-nodded in response, and he found himself repressing a tired sigh. "Look, we both know there's nothing we can do at the moment," he said, keeping his voice gentle, trying to offer some small form of encouragement even if he wasn't feeling encouraged himself. "So I suggest we both get some sleep. Fresh minds in the morning may find fresh approaches, hm?"

She looked up and offered a brief smile. "You're right Doctor." Her look turned critical as she studied his face. "You look tired as well, Doctor."

"Just the strain of adjusting to my latest incarnation," he said lightly, downplaying his own exhaustion. Which seemed to be increasing even as he spoke. "I'll just fetch Tegan; I promised to find her quarters of her own."

Nyssa nodded approvingly. "Good, that'll help her feel more comfortable, I'm sure." She rose and stretched, shut down the data pad and laid it on the small table by the door before exiting the room.

**oOo**

Tegan looked up as she heard the library door open. As the Doctor had warned her, she'd found the reading material in the various books rather dry, but had plowed through it as best she could — which, she admitted, wasn't very well at all. "Any luck?" she asked as she closed her book and rose to her feet, stretching the kinks out of her back as she did so.

The Doctor's eyes were on her with every move she made. It was odd, but he seemed to watch her quite a bit. Checking to make sure no unexpected side effects popped up, or just sizing her up because he was feeling peckish?

No, no, she'd promised herself that she wouldn't be so uncharitable, but in spite of her earlier nap she was tired and quickly heading toward cranky. Her headache had returned, no doubt from forcing herself to read every word of every page she could force herself to struggle through, including those whose meaning she couldn't begin to figure out and which she had no idea how to pronounce. Of which there were far, far too many.

"A bit," the Doctor replied to her question, then proceeded to explain what Nyssa had discovered.

Tegan sensed there was something else he wasn't telling her after he'd finished describing this "Castrovalva" place — and was pretty sure she knew what it was. "Any luck finding Adric?" she asked, watching his face carefully as she did so.

His response was a frown — very slight, very brief, but she was looking for it and so caught it — and a shake of the head. "No," he said, and by the way he pressed his lips together, she got the idea that he was done talking about it.

She decided for once in her life to let something be and turned the subject back to this scientific paradise Nyssa had discovered. "Castrovalva," she said, trying the word on for size. "Sounds exotic. Are we on our way?"

"Not yet. There are a few things I need to take care of first, but soon. I promise," he added when she opened her mouth to object.

With a great deal of reluctance she managed to stop herself, admitting that it made sense; she knew she could certainly use a good night's sleep, and from the looks of things, so could he.

"And you? How has your research gone?"

She gave the pile of books a glance then turned back to him, lips pursed in an expression of exaggerated distaste. "Dry as dust and more syllables per word than should be allowed," was her tart pronouncement.

He chuckled. "I'm afraid that's true of almost all Gallifreyan research," he admitted as he moved next to her and flipped open  _A Brief History of The Vampire Wars and Their Catastrophic Effects Upon Gallifreyan Society in the Time of Rassilon and Immediately Following_.

Tegan noted the title and made another face. "That one lies like a rug," she said. When he offered her a questioning look, she explained: "Brief history my arse. It must be over 1000 pages long — and on the inside, it says "Volume I" to boot! Have you read it?"

He shook his head and she huffed her lack of surprise. "I can't say I'd recommend it; I couldn't manage more than a few pages before I started nodding off. How," she added in obvious exasperation, "could anyone write a book about something as juicy as a vampire war and make it so deadly dull?"

He chuckled at her accurate description of the usual Gallifreyan scholarly writing style. "Only the Time Lords, I'm afraid."

Her expression became determined. "Boring or not, I'm determined to read every single one of these sodding books if I have to."

"That's the spirit," the Doctor replied approvingly. He closed the book and glanced over at her.

Something about her had face caught his attention. He frowned and reached up to take her chin in his hand, tilting her head just the slightest bit.

Oh, it wasn't her face; it was her neck. Surely he couldn't be hungry already?

But no, he was peering at her neck closely, a dismayed expression on his face as he brushed the tips of his fingers against the welter of small red marks where he'd bitten her. "Do they…hurt?"

She felt a shiver pass over her at the delicate touch of his fingertips. "No," she managed, her voice low, nearly a whisper. "They don't hurt." She cleared her throat and aimed for a normal tone of voice as she added: "They itch a bit, right after, but that's all."

He withdrew his hand, tucking it into one pocket of his jeans. "I'm sure there's something in the medical bay we can get for that."

"Will they scar, do you think? There wasn't anything I saw that mentioned—well, long-term effects of being bitten." She blushed as she asked the question, although she wasn't sure why. It was a natural concern to have, to wonder if being bitten over and over in the same place would result in a build-up of scar tissue. Which in turn would result in him needing to bite her elsewhere — the other side of her neck, of course, then perhaps her wrists? She could picture herself like some kind of heroin addict, although the thought of him needing to bite her between the toes was too ridiculous an image to sustain for longer than the second it took to think it.

"I don't know." He shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, Tegan, but since you're Human, the only way we'll be able to tell is through trial and error, I'm afraid." He took her hand in his as she felt the prickling of tears in the backs of her eyes. Tears she refused to allow to fall. "I'll take another look at your exam results, and see if there's anything there that can give us an answer, shall I?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and was relieved when he abruptly released her hand and changed the subject. Once again tucking his hands into his jeans pockets, he asked: "Shall we find you somewhere to sleep?"

Oh, right, he'd offered her her own quarters. She supposed she should be grateful, but something about the idea made feel uncomfortable. A room of her own implied permanency, and she wasn't sure she was ready to deal with that, not just yet.

But if not her own room, then where? Continuing sleeping in the Doctor's bed, with him next to her? Not very likely, since he no doubt valued his privacy as much as the next person. And not very smart on her part, since she was honest enough to admit that the appeal was partially due to how damned hard it was becoming to fight her growing attraction to him. If they were in bed and he needed to bite her, then all he would have to do is roll over, take some blood, and then…

_And then what?_ she scoffed at herself. _He'll give in to his overwhelming attraction to the annoying brat who got herself lost inside his TARDIS, make mad, passionate love to her and they'll live happily ever after?_

Right. Chance would be a fine thing.

As she fell into step next to him, though, she couldn't help asking: "Are you sure that's it's a good idea for me to have my own…I mean, what if you need to — if you get…hungry…during the night? Shouldn't I stay close, at least until we both figure out how often you need to…" She couldn't bring herself to finish the question, but he knew what she was asking.

"I don't think that's necessary," he replied. "Believe me, no matter where you are on the TARDIS, I'll be able to find you. And I won't let it get as bad as it was earlier," he added. His turn to sound awkward and even slightly nervous. "I'm not used to…well, to being a slave to my appetite, to put it bluntly. I tried to ignore what my body was telling me. I won't allow that to happen again."

Tegan swallowed and nodded. So he'd cottoned on to her nervousness (terror) in the wardrobe room. No big surprise there. "Right," she managed as they turned down another length of featureless corridor.

"There's plenty of room on the TARDIS," he said. "So there's no reason you can't have a space of your own. But thank you," he added with a small smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he glanced sideways at her. "I appreciate the thought."

Tegan fought back a surge of disappointment, her heart pounding with embarrassment. What had led her to make such a ridiculous offer? Of course he didn't want her sleeping in the same bed with him if she didn't have to.  _Alien_ , she reminded herself as they resumed walking.  _Alien vampire. You idiot._

She was still castigating herself when the Doctor stopped next to a door that looked exactly like every other door they'd passed in this corridor. When he pushed it open, she stepped inside and looked around.

This room was a blank canvas, slightly larger than her bedroom back home in Brisbane and holding only a bed, a chest of drawers and a single chair, with an uncarpeted floor and bland white walls. There were two other doorways; the first one led to an empty walk in closet, and the second proved to be a fully equipped bathroom: toilet, sink, tub, shower, linen closet. Excellent. There was even a brand new toothbrush on the counter, and a quick look into the drawers showed everything she could possibly need as far as personal hygiene went, feminine included.

"We're actually not that far from my quarters," the Doctor said when she came back into the main room. He was standing by the door, hadn't come any further into the room and looked decidedly fidgety. "Will this do, do you think?"

She was busy investigating the dresser drawers, which were stocked with pajamas and socks and individually plastic-wrapped sets of underclothing, as if the TARDIS was anxious to let her know no one else had worn them before. "It'll do." She shut the drawer and looked over at the bedside table. Seeing there was nothing on it, she nodded to it and asked: "Isn't there an alarm clock I can use?"

He looked puzzled. "Whatever for?"

She gave him a disbelieving look. "So I know when to get up in the morning? You might not need to keep time on this heap, but I certainly will!"

The Doctor looked offended — either at her tone or her unflattering name for the TARDIS. She wasn't sure which and really didn't care right now. "Well? How do you tell time here?" she prodded.

He regarded her as if no one had ever asked such a ridiculous question before, and she felt her face reddening. Well, fine, if none of his other traveling companions had ever asked, too bad. She wanted to know. "Tegan, even if I did keep track of day and night — non-existent concepts in the Vortex, by the way — it would be on Gallifrey's schedule, not Earth norm. Which would be a 26 hour schedule by your reckoning."

"Close enough," she grumbled. "I just want to be able to know when it's actually bed time instead of just randomly going to sleep when I'm tired. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

He let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes ceilingward. "No, I suppose it isn't," he conceded. "I'm sure I can find an alarm clock somewhere." With a sardonic look, he added: "Anything else?"

She took another, deliberately long look around the room before shaking her head. "I don't think so." Linens on the bed, a blanket, a well-stocked bathroom, a dresser full of things to wear…she would be fine.

Not that the room was perfect; the bed, for example, was a single and she'd grown used to sleeping in a double since moving to London. She supposed she'd just have get used to it. It wasn't like she'd be entertaining any "gentlemen callers" in the near future, to use her favorite  _Gone With The Wind_  phrase.

Because of her condition, she might never entertain a "gentleman caller" ever again, come to think of it. Depressing thought.

Just as depressing as the thought that she'd never see her own bedroom ever again. Either of her bedrooms — the one she'd taken over in Aunt Vanessa's London flat or the one she'd left behind on the family ranch in Brisbane. Nor would her aunt ever be returning to that flat…She felt tears gathering, and practically pushed the Doctor out the door in her haste to keep him from seeing her break down.

**oOo**

The Doctor stood outside the door to Tegan's new quarters, knowing she was crying and not sure what to do about it. She obviously wanted to be alone, but since he suspected her emotional upset was a result of her transformation, he felt he should try to do something to help her.

But what? He'd never been good around crying females—around crying anyones, if he were being honest. The best thing he could do, he finally concluded, would be to leave her alone and see how she was doing in the morning.

If, of course, he didn't wake up in the middle of the night craving blood.

He certainly hoped not; he doubted Tegan would appreciate him looming over her in a darkened bedroom, and he hoped he wouldn't have to feed as often as he had been now that the first day of his latest regeneration had passed.

He paused on the way to his own rooms, hesitating briefly before striking off in a different direction. He knew he was supposed to be getting some rest of his own, but his earlier realization that there was far more he didn't know about sanguiferous regenerations than he did know sent him instead to a private research lab deep in the heart of the TARDIS. It was strictly off limits to his companions, since it downloaded the required information directly into his mind, and was designed to work strictly with a Time Lord's unique brain chemistry and mental abilities.

He'd never forgive himself if one of his companions managed to burn their own brains out trying to use it.

The small, nondescript door that led to the lab was isomorphically locked, just as his private quarters were, an added precaution that had proved to be necessary on more than one occasion; the type of people who were willing to jump into a big blue box and go traipsing about time and space in his company were generally inquisitive as hell.

**oOo**

When he emerged a few hours later, he felt both enlightened and dismayingly ignorant.

He'd become part Human.

OK, that was a bit of a stretch, perhaps, but his research had revealed that one of the potential side-effects from such a regeneration was that his biology could be subtly influenced by the planet on which he'd regenerated, in this case, Earth. And since he was the only Time Lord to regenerate there, nothing was known of exactly how the effects would manifest. But it was a good bet that from now on his physiology would be more in sync with Earth's diurnal patterns.

So Tegan's request for a clock might not be as nonsensical as he'd originally dismissed it as.

The few other Time Lords who had regenerated on other worlds than Gallifrey — numbering exactly three, aside from himself — had developed similar variations from the norm based on whichever planet they'd had the misfortune to die and undergo a sanguiferous regeneration on. Their bodies adhered to that world's day/night cycle — difficult for the unfortunate who'd regenerated on Mirazza II, a planet that whizzed around on its axis every twelve Gallifreyan hours — in terms of needing to sleep and eat based on that cycle. Two of them had regenerated on worlds with no naturally occurring silver, and had managed to avoid that particular sensitivity, so the changes weren't all disheartening.

A pity Earth had plenty of silver and thus he had no immunity to its effects, as he and Nyssa had already discovered. He would have to be especially careful not to get into prolonged contact with the metal since it would not only burn but infect if it to entered his bloodstream.

Earth was also rich in the types of woods that affected vampires — most notably ash, hawthorn and yew — as well as another documented vampire allergen, garlic. Not that he'd been overly fond of the herb in the first place, but he'd have to instruct Nyssa and especially Tegan to keep it out of their diets.

Tegan…his thoughts always came back to her, no matter how he tried to distract himself. And not simply out of guilt. It seemed his belief that they continued to share some sort of psychic bond wasn't just his imagination, nor was it a lingering aftereffect from sharing his body's regenerative energies. The only problem was, it was supposed to be strictly biological in nature; the Sanguinaria needed a reliable way to know when the vampire she was serving was in need of blood so her body could begin the process of over-producing.

Only in Tegan's case, that bond extended in both directions. Through that bond, no doubt exacerbated by sharing a mental link while their bodies were still stabilizing, he could now sense Tegan's emotions, especially the stronger ones.

Which didn't explain why his mind inevitably lingered on her oh-so-appealing physical attributes, the way he couldn't seem to stop admiring the shape of her legs, the curve of her neck, the color of her lips…

The taste of her blood. The way drinking her blood seemed to affect him so powerfully, how its taste intoxicated him…how he wanted nothing more than to throw her down onto the nearest flat surface after drinking from her and shag her mercilessly.

Unfortunately, there was absolutely nothing in the database about such a non-Gallifreyan reaction to taking blood. Which meant nothing; his people were so fanatical about privacy and control that he doubted they'd want even their most secret databases to contain anything so embarrassing as lack of control over a basic bodily function they'd conquered as a species millennia ago.

Or else he was the first. Either way, there was nothing he could fall back on to either explain it or help him to deal with it. "Frustrated" didn't begin to describe how he felt at the moment.

He palmed his face and in doing so realized his fangs had extended as if for feeding again. An uncomfortable tightness in his trousers, however, made it abundantly clear it had nothing to do with hunger. How long was it going to be before he was able to control this unwanted physiological reaction?

He shook his head at the question. Who knew? It was a good thing he'd just reached his quarters; he entered and slammed the door shut behind him before removing his clothing and crawling under the covers to try and sleep it off.

Tegan's scent was all over the bed, her perfume and a faint trace of blood and her own natural scent, enough to drive his senses into overload. He scrambled back out from beneath the covers and moved briskly to the small lav that the TARDIS had added to his suite of rooms.

It was time for another cold shower.


	9. Catspaw

Castrovalva by moonlight. Nowhere near as romantic as it sounded, but until the Doctor could evaluate his personal level of sensitivity to the sunlight-carried radiations that were generally harmful to Gallifreyan-style vampires, they were forced to land under cover of darkness and trek across a barely-visible landscape to the city lights shining ahead of them.

At least a mile or so to go, that had been the Doctor's last estimate, although to Tegan's mind it was more like the neverending journey. If she stumbled over one more stupid rock…

Well, he had warned her she might want to change her shoes into something more practical. She was wearing lower heels than the stilettos the TARDIS had originally provided, but she never felt comfortable in flats and had told him so when he gave her navy blue pumps a critical look back in the Console Room.

She refused to change them. They matched the navy-and-white pin-striped pencil skirt she'd donned, worn beneath a matching blazer over a simple white blouse. The entire ensemble gave her the comforting feel of once again wearing her air hostess uniform and unintentionally complemented the outfit the Doctor had changed into — navy trousers, dark gray-and-navy striped dress shirt, and a charcoal gray leather jacket that came to the back of his knees.

Knowing it was her own stubbornness that was bringing her so much trouble now, she nevertheless cursed the Doctor inside her head for not being able to land the TARDIS closer, thus saving the three of them this moonlight stroll across what appeared to be a moor — containing, as her soaking wet left foot could attest, at least one small stream meandering across it.

She shone her torch just ahead of her, although it wasn't turning out to be nearly as useful as she'd hoped it would be. The planet's single moon was much smaller than the one she was used to seeing in the night sky, although the ample starlight almost made up for the difference. Still, the cast of the shadows and the knee-length grass and uneven ground made it almost impossible for her to make out where she was going.

The Doctor, of course, had no use for a torch, since his eyes — already better adapted to night vision than hers or Nyssa's, as he'd so blithely explained — now saw as clearly at night as they did during the day.

And Nyssa couldn't be stumbling or graceless if she tried, fairy princess that she was. Tegan happily admitted to jealousy of how easily the other woman maneuvered herself around in the relative darkness.

"Tegan, let me help you, I told you those shoes weren't suited for the terrain!"

She stifled a yelp as the Doctor materialized at her side as if summoned by her internal grumbles. "Cripes, Doc, give a girl a warning before you just show up like that!" she yelped as she started and lost her footing yet again.

The Doctor caught her easily by the arm, keeping her upright, then tucked her arm through his in spite of her weak insistence that she could manage just fine, thank you.

The truth was, she could use the help; the worse truth was, she enjoyed feeling his body next to hers even under such unromantic circumstances. Neither of which she would confess to him, even under threat of torture or imminent death.

So she kept her body as stiff and unyielding as possible beneath his hands, kept her eyes glued to the ground and the torch as steady as she could manage in her free hand. She did her best not to stumble any more, but was as spectacularly unsuccessful as she'd been for the past half-hour of walking.

"Not too much farther," the Doctor murmured in what she supposed was meant as an encouraging tone, but she was out of temper enough to interpret it as condescending.

Of course, she was out of temper for another reason entirely, one that had nothing to do with this nighttime trek across the wilds of Castrovalva.

One that had everything to do with her growing inability to tamp down on her attraction to the man guiding her on that trek.

It was now day three of the Doctor's new life as a vampire and hers as his personal food service. He'd taken her blood a half dozen times, although the intervals between each encounter were slowly lengthening.

The trouble was, every time he bit her — every time he sank his fangs into her jugular, every time he pressed his lips against her throat, every time he took her in his arms to support her as her blood drained away — she had to resist the urge to moan in pleasure, to run her hands over his body, to press herself against him like some silly romance novel heroine who finds the hero impossible to resist even though they've just met.

She'd hoped it was just the novelty of the situation, a way for her mind and body to cope with the changes that had been forced upon her, that she would gradually grow used to the situation and be able to view it as matter-of-factly as she'd ever done while watching what the sheep got up to during mating season.

No such luck.

The Doctor had decided to be proactive before sending the TARDIS to Castrovalva's coordinates, diffidently asking Tegan if she wouldn't mind "sharing a meal", the euphemism they'd settled on, before they landed. Just to be safe, so he wouldn't be forced to drink her blood while they were away from the TARDIS.

She'd agreed with a show of reluctance that she was convinced fooled no one; even Nyssa had commented the day before how pleased she was to see that Tegan was "adjusting" to her new life much quicker than any of them had anticipated.

If only she knew the truth, it would probably straighten that mass of curly hair she wore in a loose ponytail this evening…

**_oOoOoOoOoOo_ **

_Tegan sits on the edge of her bed, trying not to seem too eager as the Doctor joins her. She feels the heat radiating from his body and knows it's matched by her own; whenever they're about to "share a meal", it's as if her body somehow anticipates what's about to happen. Even when it's an unneeded meal, a sort of in-between snack, like this time, her temperature still rises and her skin flushes a rosy pink as if she's just come out of the bath._

_Except, of course, that the only part of her that's wet is the part between her legs._

_She keeps telling herself this reaction will pass, that it's temporary, a sort of false desire brought about by the combination of the Doctor's new, extremely attractive, physical form and face, and her body confusing his mouth on her skin as sexual in nature when clearly it isn't. Yes, he'd had an erection when they were forced into close physical proximity during the regeneration crisis, but he'd said it was an involuntary reaction and if he's feeling anything like the arousal she does when he feeds, he manages not to show it._

_But his reaction is only something she can speculate about unless she asks him, and she finds she doesn't want to do that. What if he feels absolutely nothing but the satiation of hunger when he drinks her blood, and gives her that perplexed, what-is-going-on-in-that-silly-Human-mind-of-yours look she hates so much?_

_That seems much more likely than having him admit that yes, he feels the same way, that he's fighting an attraction as strong as hers._

_She's nearly trembling as the Doctor loosens the collar of her blouse and pulls it and her bra strap down over her shoulder. His movements are always tender, gentle; if he would just tell her to pull down her own clothing or keep his movements brusque and no-nonsense, then perhaps she'd be able to do the same._

_She wants to read that as a positive sign, that perhaps he does find some kind of enjoyment in their mutual need, but there have been a few times when she's found herself completely thrown by his reactions, too many times when she finds herself forgetting that he isn't Human and therefore not to be judged by Human standards._

_Either way, they've established a pattern, and loath as she is to admit it, she doesn't really want it to change. He always loosens her clothing, she always sits passively and waits for him to lower his face to her neck._

_She always sucks in her breath and feels her heartbeat quicken as he places his "apology kiss," as she secretly terms it, on her throat before biting her._

_She suspects he isn't even aware of how sensuous his movements are, how her body tingles when he puts his hands on her arms and places his mouth on her throat. If he was aware, she was certain, he would stop. So she says nothing about it, hating herself for allowing herself the fantasy that he is doing this because he_ wants _to bite her,_ wants _to put his mouth on her and hold her close to his body as he drinks her blood…_

_That he wants_ her _, the way she now knows she wants him._

_The way she's convinced herself she'll never have him._

_While her mind goes through the now-familiar ritual of desire warring with the (increasingly smaller) part of her that thinks this is insane, he has done just as she's been imagining: his mouth has lowered to her neck, he has kissed the spot that is now criss-crossed with a series of tiny red marks, then pulls his lips back the smallest bit before leaning forward again and sinking his fangs into her jugular._

_She closes her eyes and forces herself not to moan aloud, instead diverting that need into a silent huff of air that he seems to take as a signal to pull her more firmly into his arms. She should point out that it's not necessary since they're both seated and he won't be taking much blood this time, but says nothing, just revels in the feel of him, allowing herself to hold him as if in support even though it's no such thing._

_The tingling spreads across her body, but it starts between her legs and she knows that one day, if she ever forgets to be vigilant, she will actually let loose the moans that are currently trapped in her throat, that the tingling and pure, unadulterated pleasure his bite gives her will succeed into morphing into the climax her frustrated body is aching to release._

_All too soon he pulls away, and she feels the last part of the ritual as his tongue darts out and laps up the last few drops of blood. Even though she know he does it only to stop the bleeding it still feels incredibly sexy. The only thing she finds simply fascinating and not sexy about the process is the way his body absorbs the blood so completely that he never has so much as a drop left on his lips when he finishes drinking from her._

_Well. Perhaps that's just her trying desperately to find something about this intimate procedure to look at from a less emotional point of view. If he wanted to kiss her, his breath wouldn't reek of blood, since it's all been absorbed so cleanly. There wouldn't be the lingering taste of it on his tongue or lips…_

" _Tegan," he murmurs, and she opens her eyes to meet his gaze, knowing there is a dreamy smile on her lips. She claims it is only because having her blood drained makes her sleepy, and if he knows better, he never calls her on it._

_Because, of course, to do so would be to point out her awkward Human reactions to his bite, and she is certain he wants nothing to do with anything having such potentially messy emotional connotations._

" _Tegan," he says again, his voice sharpening, and she looks at him in confusion…_

**oOoOoOoOoOo**

"Tegan! Are you all right? I've called your name three times now!"

Tegan blinked and looked up at the Doctor, who was peering down at her with a concerned frown. "Sorry, just…sorry," she finished lamely. "I guess I was somewhere else for a while."

"Somewhere quite fascinating, judging by your reluctance to leave it," he replied, but thankfully he waved any questions aside as he released his hold on her arm. "Well, at any rate, we've arrived."

They'd stopped, she realized, in front of an enormous stone wall. She shook herself completely free of her memories and the emotional morass in which she'd entangled herself, then shone her torch on the wall. "Who are they keeping out, the bloo — the Mongol Hordes?" she grumbled.

"The gate's over this way!" That was Nyssa, calling from somewhere to their left. Tegan squinted and turned her torch in that direction, to see their young friend waving them forward. "There's a bell, shall I ring it, Doctor?"

He hurried to her side, leaving Tegan to pick her way toward the two of them. At least they were out of the moors, standing on what felt like a path of hardened dirt around the edges of the wall leading to the gates. She joined them within seconds, feeling more confident on this artificially cleared terrain, taking a moment to reach down and wipe a smudge from the toe of her right foot — the dry one, although the left one wasn't nearly as wet as it had been — and then patting her hair into place. Thank goodness the walk hadn't been terribly windy or she'd need a mirror and a brush before feeling herself presentable enough to meet up with a group of strangers.

Strange scientists at that. She felt a nervous flutter begin in her stomach as the Doctor reached up and rang the bell. Strange scientists who, hopefully, would be able to do something about her condition, get her back to normal and allow her to return home to friends and family and leave behind the fascinating, irritating, and sometimes frightening man she was currently traveling with.

If, of course, that was still what she wanted…

**oOo**

While Tegan considered her troubling situation, the Doctor stood next to Nyssa, hands clasped behind his back, and studied the architecture of the gate they were facing. It was an interesting mixture of styles he almost recognized, although he couldn't for the life of him place his finger on where, exactly, he'd seen any of them before. They weren't Gallifreyan, although the lines of that arch certainly suggested the possibility of having been influenced by a Gallifreyan architect; nothing from any Earth structure he'd ever seen, far too curvilinear for that, but where had he seen such a style before?

Before he could try to match what he was seeing with anything stored in his considerable memory, Tegan caught up to them, and he found his attention riveted on her even though he couldn't possibly be hungry; he'd made sure to "share a meal" with her before leaving the TARDIS.

He kept her in view while pretending to still be absorbed in the structure of the gate, watching her from the corner of her eye as she stomped up and stopped next to Nyssa, favoring her left ankle just the slightest bit. She'd likely twisted it when she stepped into that creek, but not badly enough to interfere with her ability to walk.

A pity, that; he could easily have carried her even before his transformation into a vampire and now…he felt an irrational surge of pride at how his body had gained a nearly supernatural strength and speed and endurance that was miles beyond what any other Time Lord – even the best trained shock trooper from the eons before the rise of Rassilon – could ever dream of managing. One of the few positive side effects to his condition.

He wondered how Tegan would have reacted if he simply picked her up and held her against his chest. She _would_ insist on wearing such impractical footwear; it would serve her right if she'd actually sprained that ankle. Oh, she would have fought and insisted that no, she could walk; he could practically hear her arguing with him and his lips lifted in a brief smile at the thought.

A pity indeed, and a wasted opportunity. He should have simply picked her up and carried her whether she protested or not. After all, it wasn't as if he didn't know that she would have secretly enjoyed every second of it, the feel of his arms around her, her head resting on his shoulder, her hands clasped around his neck…

Just as she enjoyed his mouth against her throat when he drank her blood. He could feel her fighting the desire to press her body against his when he did so, the way her heart raced in anticipation when he leaned his head down and touched his lips to her throat in a soft kiss that had somehow become a part of the ritual they shared…

He thrust his hands deep into his jacket pockets and discreetly turned his body as if continuing to study the architecture, furious that he'd allowed his thoughts to drift in such a manner as to cause the stirrings of an unwanted physical reaction. Resolutely he tamped down on his reawakened libido for what felt like the thousandth time in the past several days, being sure to keep his eyes directed away from Tegan and Nyssa until he got himself back under control.

This needed to work; Castrovalva  _had_  to be the answer they were seeking, or one day he was going to find himself biting Tegan to take her blood and turning it into something far more intimate.

Intimate and dangerous.

He was a Time Lord. Self-control was his middle name, or would be if Time Lords had middle names, he thought with a silent, bitter chuckle. He could control this.

For both their sakes', he  _had_  to control this.

But should be at least tell her that she wasn't fighting this battle alone? Didn't he owe her that much?

No, that was a slippery slope, a temptation whispered to his mind by his body. If he told her, then perhaps she would allow him to do what he so desperately wanted to do. It went against everything he'd been raised to believe, and although he rebelled against a great deal in his society, the exquisite control Time Lords exerted over their minds and bodies wasn't one of them. To admit that he was affected as powerfully by Tegan as she was by him was to admit to a weakness no Time Lord ever fell prey to.

His morose thoughts were interrupted as a smaller door opened abruptly in front of him. Nyssa took a nervous step backward, as did Tegan, but he offered his most winning — close-mouthed — smile and held out his hand to the balding, podgy man blinking sleepily at them from just within the portal. "Hallo, I'm the Doctor, we've come to make use of your city's marvelous research facilities, sorry it's so late but it couldn't be helped. May we enter?"

**oOo**

Tegan was bored. This place was apparently everything Nyssa and the Doctor had hoped it would be, which was marvelous, but the two of them were deep in incomprehensible conversation with a cluster of Castrovalva's greatest medical minds, and aside from assuring Tegan that she'd come to the right place to find a cure for her "interesting condition", she'd been virtually ignored for the past hour or so.

When they'd first entered the gate and been directed to this facility by the portreeve, as he styled himself, she hadn't seen much to show this was some fancy scientific haven. If anything, Castrovalva looked suspiciously like a town gearing up for a Renaissance fair or a reenactment of the Battle of Hastings, all massive stone buildings and equally massive wooden doors. The only modern touch she saw was the electric streetlights, or what she assumed were electric streetlights; who knew what actually powered them? Still, they were familiar in shape and gave off a steady, comforting glow.

The difference between being outside and being inside one of the buildings couldn't have been more stark. Once they passed through the massive wooden portal with the discreet sign labeling the building as the "Castrovalva Central Medical Research Center," it was all sleek modern design, stainless steel and cool ceramic tile and neutral, soothing colors.

In contrast to the portreeve's archaic costume, the receptionist who greeted them sported a sleek and modern hairstyle that fit in perfectly with their more contemporary surroundings. She rose from behind her chrome-and-white desk to greet them, revealing a tight white dress mini-dress with extremely low-cut cleavage that could have passed for a nurse's Halloween costume back home.

A  _slutty_  nurse's Halloween costume.

Tegan concentrated very hard on ignoring the way the wretched blonde simpered and smiled at the Doctor, openly flirting with him as she asked their business. When he began describing Tegan's condition, however, her attitude became instantly professional. She reached down and pressed a button on the console sitting on her desk, spoke into it in a murmur, then indicated the door that opened smoothly behind her. "Our lead biologist, Dr. Mergrave, will see you right away."

They filed through the door one at a time, the Doctor in the lead, Nyssa hard on his heels, Tegan trailing behind them with a great deal of reluctance. Yes, she wanted to see if there was something that could be done about her condition, some solution found that had frustratingly eluded the Doctor and Nyssa, but she was nervous at the same time.

What if the solution turned out to be worse than the condition? Or what if there was no solution?

She felt an urge to tell the Doctor to just chuck it, let it go until after they'd found Adric, but didn't want to bring up that particular sore spot. She knew the others had split their time over the past three days almost evenly between researching her condition (to no avail) and brainstorming different ways to try and track the Master's TARDIS (also to no avail).

No, she'd just have to grit her teeth and order her stomach to settle down.

Which it eventually did, as test after boring test was performed, all of them under a series of increasingly intimidating medical scanners. And now, two hours into this visit, she was no longer the center of attention. Which would be fine if she wasn't feeling about as useless as a saddle on the family Cessna.

She stood up and shouldered her way into the cluster of scientists crowding around Nyssa and the Doctor. "I'm going for a walk, to take a look around," she announced. Not asked, not requested, but announced. She was feeling belligerent and expected some kind of order to stay put, and so was mildly surprised when the Doctor simply nodded at her in a distracted manner and plunged back into the conversation she'd interrupted.

Since the conversation was about her, she thought as she stomped off, you'd think they'd need to talk to her some more. But no, a few medical scans and apparently they had all the information they needed.

It was the results of those medical scans that were under discussion now; at least she had the satisfaction of knowing that they found her body's recent modifications "fascinating."

That had pretty much been the last thing she'd understood as the conversation degenerated into medical gobbledy-gook she wouldn't have been able to decode even if they'd been throwing around purely Human terms. Add in the alien technology and biological comparisons and she may as well have been listening to them speak in Martian, or whatever language they actually did speak here.

At least Nyssa had explained before their arrival that the TARDIS allowed them to understand all languages, that everyone on alien worlds wasn't actually speaking English — although they all managed to sound like they not only spoke the Queen's tongue, but had learned it in the UK as well.

Whatever. If they needed her, they'd have to come and find her, that was all.

She knew it was more nerves than actual disgruntlement souring her mood, but knowing why she was unhappy didn't help. She just wanted this to be over with, one way or another; either cure her and send her home or tell her sorry, you're stuck this way for the rest of your life. Limbo wasn't her favorite place to visit.

She kicked at a loose piece of cement on the sidewalk as she strolled morosely down the wide street the medical facility faced onto. She'd picked a direction at random, taking a left after leaving the building and just allowing her feet to continue in the same direction while she brooded.

At least the scans had been completely non-invasive; she hadn't had to have her blood drawn or had tissue samples taken or even pee in a cup, which was certainly novel. That, she could get used to. Come to think of it, it wasn't actually very different to what Nyssa had done to her on the TARDIS.

As she reached a cross street and hesitated on the curb, trying to decide whether to turn back or keep going, she heard the sound of movement from somewhere behind her and turned to see who it was. There had been one or two people on the street when she first left the medical facility, all of them in white lab coats and carrying stacks of papers and looking like they were in a great hurry to get somewhere, but even those few others had disappeared the further she got from the hospital.

Not that crime was an issue here; she'd read over the documents Nyssa had provided and discovered that, not only was Castrovalva a scientific haven, it was incredibly peaceful as well. So peaceful, at least according to their own proclamations, that one could as easily come here to rest and recuperate as to consult their scientists.

She'd snorted derisively at that bit of drivel, although Nyssa hastened to assure her that Earth-style hyperbole was unlikely in this case, that they were most likely telling the simple truth.

Still, Tegan was on edge, and so her look was sharp, her body tensing as she waited to see who was coming up behind her. She was ready to either hurry across the street or stand her ground, whatever was needed.

What she saw froze her in place as thoroughly as if her feet were glued to the pavement.

Adric. Running toward her, waving his arms, glancing back over his shoulder as if he were being pursued although there was no one else in sight on the well-lit street. When he saw her looking at him, he increased his speed until he reached her, panting, still looking terribly afraid as he leaned his hands on his knees. "We've got to get out of here," he gasped, reaching up and catching at Tegan's arm. "The Master's here, I just managed to get away from him and I saw you, where's the Doctor? We have to get to the TARDIS…"

Tegan wrenched her arm away from his grasp and stepped away from him. "How do I know you're the real Adric?" she asked sharply. "How do I know this isn't another trick?"

"But of course it is, Miss Jovanka. How clever of you to deduce that."

While she'd been distracted by Adric — or "Adric" — the Master had snuck up behind her. Something cold and hard was jammed into the middle of her back and she went very still, knowing it for a weapon even before the Master identified it as such.

"Don't move, don't cry out," he said, then chuckled as if he found his own words amusing. "Actually, cry out all you like; no one will hear you since no one here actually exists. Including, as you've already guessed, young Adric here."

The boy in front of her stopped gasping and straightened up, hands dangling by his sides, his expression gone completely blank. He stood there for a moment longer before suddenly wavering and vanishing before Tegan's horrified eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I forgot to mention this at the beginning, many of the details in this and the following chapter come directly from the episode "Castrovalva" only modified to fit this particular story.


	10. A Taste of Armageddon

The Doctor was still fuming over Tegan's abrupt departure an hour later, unable to fully clear his mind of her display of temper even while reviewing Castrovalva's impressive medical database and managing to maintain an outward calm. Too bad if she didn't understand the scientific theories he and the others had been discussing; it was all for her benefit so the least she could have done was show some patience while they thrashed things out…

Nyssa interrupted his thoughts by placing a hand on his arm and thrusting her data pad under his nose. "Doctor? Can you look at this for me? I must not be reading it correctly."

He peered down at the information she was showing him, shaken out of his own internal display of temper by the concern in her voice. "Hmm, that can't be right." Temperature, blood pressure, blood cell counts, even DNA, all perfectly equal, down to the last strand. How could such an error have occurred?

He continued to ponder the question while the lead biologist, Dr. Mergrave, hurried over to see what was wrong. "Is there a problem with the data?"

The Doctor pointed. "Here, do you see? According to this, Tegan's bioreadings are identical to Nyssa's."

"Which is impossible," Nyssa interjected with a frown, "since we're not even from the same planet or genetic stock." She was right – Trakenites might have looked Earth Human on the outside, but there were a great many internal differences to show that they weren't some lost Human colony claiming a different name for themselves.

"This can't possibly be right," the scientist agreed with a frown of his own. "Could we have gotten your data mixed up with Miss Jovanka's when you downloaded her medical files to our computer?"

"It's possible, but not very likely," the Doctor replied. "Nyssa, can you check?"

She ran nimble fingers over the data pad's surface, waited a moment, then looked over the information she'd just downloaded. "This is definitely Tegan's data, Doctor. It's Human, through and through – see this series of genetic markers here? But when I try to integrate the files with the Castrovalva database, they just come up as my data with Tegan's name over it."

"It must be some kind of computer glitch," Mergrave's lab assistant, Ruther offered as he joined the others in huddling over Nyssa's data pad.

"Nothing like this has ever happened before, I assure you!" Mergrave said, glaring at Ruther as if he'd spoken out of turn – which was probably exactly what he'd done; who wanted their supposedly state-of-the-art medical facility made to look less than perfect? – before giving the Doctor an apologetic smile. He hurried over to the communications panel and punched in a series of numbers. When a voice on the other end responded, he snapped: "Get Adric on the line. We're having a compatibility issue."

The Doctor froze, eyes wide as he looked back and forth between Nyssa, who clearly shared his confusion, and Dr. Mergrave. "Who?" he demanded sharply, crossing the room at vampire speed and snatching the communications device from the other man's hand. "Who did you ask for?"

Dr. Mergrave issued a strangled gasp and held his hand to his heart. "Arric," the medical doctor stammered out, glancing over at his assistant in confusion. "H-he's our dedicated liaison for the night, why? "

The Doctor knew what he'd heard. Superior Time Lord hearing, further enhanced by his current state, told him as much; never mind the fact that Nyssa clearly heard the same thing as evidenced by her similar reaction.

No, he  _knew_  what he'd heard, which meant that now he was being lied to. This man had the audacity to lie, straight to his face, as if he were some sort of simpleton who would just believe anything he was told. The thought enraged him, and he loomed over the shorter man, his eyes narrowed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "You're lying," he said flatly, as Dr. Mergrave shrank back from his enraged client. "Why are you lying to me?"

"I-I'm not, Doctor, I assure you!" he sputtered, inching away from the Doctor.

The Doctor could feel his fangs elongating and suspected his eyes had turned — yes, they must be red as blood right now, judging by the way Mergrave's own eyes widened further, standing out like dark pools as he blanched in terror. "What are you?" he asked, his voice hoarse, but then suddenly it was like a switch had been flipped and the scientist within him won out because he stopped backing away and darted forward, peering at the Doctor's eyes with a curious, and not in the least bit fearful, frown on his face. "Spontaneous alteration of ocular pigmentation apparently induced by emotional duress…amazing! I've never seen anything like it!"

The sudden shift was enough to bring the Doctor back to equilibrium as well. He fell silent, his fangs retracted and he took a step away from Mergrave with a sigh. "It's – it's one of the more unfortunate manifestations of my condition," he explained, hoping his eyes had returned to their normal, less menacing color. He turned and began pacing the room. Maybe the name was just a coincidence. Or perhaps he'd heard him wrong after all. "We have another friend, you see," he began by way of explanation and apology both. "He's – well, he's gone missing."

"In a manner of speaking," Nyssa interjected wryly. "Though we do know who he's with."

"Indeed," the Doctor agreed. "An old, erm, acquaintance of mine is holding him, though his reasons for doing so have not yet been revealed."

Mergrave nodded slowly as he pondered. "Perhaps we may be of some assistance to you with this as well. Where were you when you last saw Adric?"

In less than an instant the Doctor was back in feral mode, fangs extended, eyes blood red as he lunged at Mergrave, pressed him against the wall and held him there with one hand pressed firmly on his throat. "I never said his name," the Doctor growled, his voice soft and deadly. "How did you know he's called Adric?" He pressed his hand in harder. "Where is he?"

Mergrave looked around the room for help, but Ruther was standing near the door, wringing his hands nervously as his eyes darted back and forth between his employer and the terrifying stranger who appeared on the verge of strangling him. Nyssa was just about to intervene when a blank screen at the far end of the room suddenly brightened into life.

The image it showed shouldn't have surprised either of them.

It certainly didn't surprise the Doctor. He abruptly left off menacing Mergrave and strode up to the screen, glaring at the Master's smug face. "I should have known," he snarled. "What did you do, hypnotize them into doing your bidding while you set your traps?"

"Hypnotize? How crude, Doctor. How unimaginative of you. Surely you can do better than that?" The smug expression morphed into a cruel smile. "Especially since it should be obvious that Castrovalva itself is the trap."

"It's a Block Transfer Computation, just like the false Adric!" Nyssa gasped out, reaching the conclusion seconds after the Doctor. "This whole city…he's created it just to lure us here!"

"Very good, Doctor. She's certainly a brain cell or two cleverer than your usual level of pet," the Master said in mocking approbation. "Unlike certain others."

He stepped back to reveal the rest of his Console Room, which now held a new prisoner: Tegan. Instead of the elaborate energy web that still pinned Adric to the wall like some exotic bug the Master had collected, she was chained next to him by a pair of oversized, wrought iron manacles, hands held over her head. She'd been gagged as well, but if her glare alone could kill, the Master would have been dead on the floor long since.

Adric, on the other hand, appeared to be in his own world; his eyes were glazed, there were traces of sweat on his cheeks and brow, and his lips were moving in a constant mumble too low for even the Doctor to hear, although he could guess what that was about. Like the Logopolitans that had shown him the methodology behind Block Transfer Computations, Adric had to keep up a steady chant of the calculations that maintained the charade that was Castrovalva.

At least he'd been spared the task of keeping up Mergrave and Ruther; a quick glance revealed that the two men had frozen into immobility at some point and were now nothing more than two-dimensional representations. "Let them go," the Doctor ordered, knowing he was going to be ignored even as he spoke.

As expected, the Master's response was a sardonic smile and slow shake of his head as he sauntered over to Tegan's side. "What do you think of the bonds I've fashioned for Miss Jovanka?" he asked, raking his eyes over her restrained form. "Old fashioned, I know, but considering how supremely gothic your situation has become, it seemed fitting. And do you approve of her new outfit? From what I gather, virginal white is  _de rigueur_  for the vampire's female victim."

The Doctor ignored the Master's mocking words; he'd already taken in Tegan's change of clothing into a diaphanous, floor-length — and quite low-necked — white gown. With part of his mind he hoped she'd been unconscious when the Master changed her — because he was quite sure that even the threat of imminent death wouldn't be enough to convince her to don such a thing herself. "Who knew you were such a fan of B-grade Human supernatural cinema?" was all he asked, with more than a hint of mockery in his own voice.

The Master's response was a scowl as he made a sudden grab for Tegan's head. She flinched back, then kicked out at him. He avoided her flailing limbs with ease, smirking as he held her tightly by the hair with one hand and undid the gag with the other, allowing her to give vent to her considerable spleen.

When she finally ran out of names to call the Master — and where, exactly, had she learned such a varied and colorful supply of invective in the first place? — and fell silent, her captor gave three slow claps. "What a delightfully foul mouth you have," he said with what appeared to be genuine admiration.

His expression hardened as he turned back to the monitor to face the Doctor and Nyssa, who had moved up to join him. "The two of you have exactly five minutes to leave Castrovalva before I have Adric cease his efforts at keeping it intact. After that, I expect you to turn yourself over to me at the coordinates I'm transmitting to your TARDIS."

"Or what?" the Doctor asked, not sure why he bothered since he knew exactly what the answer was going to be.

Nor was he disappointed; the Master was annoyingly predictable at times. "Or your young friend and your Sanguinaria both die, of course," he replied, radiating an air of smug satisfaction that only added to the Doctor's simmering rage. "I understand you left your TARDIS a fair distance from the city, and of course, the sun will be rising within an hour, so I suggest you get going." He offered Nyssa an ironic bow. "So nice to see you again, my dear. I do hope the Doctor brings you along; I always treasure our father-daughter moments."

His image vanished, although the Doctor could still hear his mocking laughter ringing in his mind long after.

Nyssa's face was a combination of horror and grief, but there was no time for either of them to do anything but run. He grabbed her hand, pulling her along at a dead run as the room began to dissolve into nothingness behind them.

The last thing he saw before reaching the door was the flattened, frozen forms of Mergrave and Ruther winking out like the illusions they'd always been.

**oOo**

They raced out of Castrovalva's gates into the night, though even if it had been full daylight, Nyssa knew she would take no notice of her surroundings. The Doctor pulled her along behind him, back onto the moor they'd traversed in the opposite direction hours earlier.

The spectacular destruction of the city wasn't even enough to do more than fleetingly catch her attention. They paused briefly after getting well away from the stone wall that made up its perimeter, sparing a few seconds to watch as everything sort of…crumpled in on itself, exactly like wadding up a piece of paper until it was shaped into a rough sphere.

And then the sphere shrank in on itself even further, contracting into nothingness, marked not even by a flash of energy or light as it simply vanished into the darkness.

An entire civilization created just to lure the Doctor to this planet so the Master could do exactly as he'd done: capture Tegan and force the rest of them to do his bidding.

She hated him. The Master. She'd never felt such… _rage_ …at another living being in her entire life. Her hatred was overwhelming, and she felt herself aching to be able to do something to him — hurt him, torture him, kill him — anything that would make him  _stop_.

He  _needed_  to be stopped. Permanently. Before he could do any more damage to anyone else. "We have to stop him, Doctor!" she gave voice to this conviction as they began moving again, the Doctor setting the pace at a fast jog she could easily keep up with, even in the dark. "We can't let him keep hurting people like this!"

"I know," came the Doctor's grim reply. He never broke stride, not even when she later stumbled over some unseen obstruction in the gray, pre-dawn light and nearly fell. Not even when he lifted her into his arms and carried her the remainder of the trip without the slightest sign of effort.

The Master had to be stopped. She felt that to the very core of her being, and judging by the grim look on the Doctor's face as he carried her across the moor, he fully agreed.

**oOo**

Nyssa was right. The Master had to be stopped; the only question was, how? How could they stop him when he held not one but two hostages against them?

He still hadn't reached a satisfactory answer to that question by the time they reached his TARDIS.

He wasn't even winded, even though Nyssa weighed more than he'd initially estimated. Not that he would ever mention such a thing to her; even a Time Lord knew not to comment on a woman's weight unless he wanted the wrath of Heaven to fall on his head.

He helped her to her feet, unlocked the doors and followed her inside. She gave a murmur of thanks and closed the doors behind them both.

And then she promptly faded into the background of his consciousness as he rushed over to the opposite side of the console and found the promised coordinates waiting for him. After programming them into the TARDIS he slammed down the lever that sent them off on their unwelcome journey through space and time.

"Where are we going?"

He started at the sound of Nyssa's quiet question; he'd literally forgotten her presence as his mind considered – and discarded – plan after useless plan to get Tegan and Adric out of danger. "Not very far," he answered her. She was standing by the interior door, arms folded across her chest in a manner that might be construed as casual — if one didn't happen to notice how tightly her fingers were clutching her arms, which he certainly did.

He noticed it, just as he noticed how her heart was pounding in her chest, the blood roaring through her veins in what he knew was anger rather than fear. It was disturbing to see her this way, so inflamed by the Master; Nyssa was not easily rattled, and to see just how distressed she was now only served to underscore the gravity of the situation. "It's the same planet," he further clarified in answer to her question, "just a continent and several thousand years in time away from where we just were."

"What are you going to do to stop him?" she asked, her voice low and intense this time, quite a long way away from anything so simply defined as "quiet."

He met her gaze squarely. "Kill him."

He'd expected a negative reaction to his blunt words, but Nyssa surprised him by simply nodding her acceptance. "He needs to be stopped," she said, repeating her earlier words, and finally he understood the depth of emotion behind her deceptively simple statement.

He suspected the Master's little dig about "father-daughter moments" had served as the catalyst for Nyssa's rage. She wasn't bloodthirsty by nature; far from it, in fact. She had as gentle and loving a heart as he'd ever met, on top of a logical, scientific mind that had never in his experience degenerated into cold-bloodedness.

Until now. But who could blame her? The Master had heaped injury after emotional injury upon her; killing her step-mother-to-be, stealing her father's body and tricking her into believing Tremas was alive.

And destroying her entire planet through his ill-conceived attempt to blackmail the Universe on Logopolis by stopping the chanting that was all that was keeping said Universe going.

Kidnapping first Adric, and then Tegan.

No wonder she'd gone a bit bloodthirsty; he felt the same way himself, though if he were truly honest with himself, he couldn't be sure if that had more to do with the unwanted attributes of his current regeneration, rather than the merits of the situation at hand.

He gave an internal sigh. Something else to add to the list of things he'd been trying to ignore about his new self. He knew he'd never been one to suffer fools gladly, but now he suspected he'd cheerfully toss said fools into a volcano if they got in his way, and never think twice about it.

He'd reached that point in his depressing thoughts when the TARDIS signaled its arrival at the programmed coordinates — and a look through the scanner revealed that it had, indeed, done so. Good. Now was not the time for her to get temperamental and land them somewhere other than the desired destination.

Although night had fallen the Doctor felt no sense of the rejuvenation the TARDIS database had led him to expect. That was the burden of having his physiology locked in sync with Earth's day-night cycle; actual day or night on any given planet no longer mattered, only whether England was facing toward or away from the sun. By that reckoning he'd been up for nearly two days now, and could feel himself starting to fade a bit around the edges.

He would just have to ignore his fatigue, to push himself. There was too much riding on him, too many lives at stake, for him to give in to his body's needs now.

_Oh yes, and ignoring those needs has worked out so well for you up to now,_ a jeering voice inside his mind reminded him. Certainly he could ignore his body's need for rest…as long as he took care of another need first.

If he wanted to face the Master at anything like his best, he needed blood. And since Tegan was currently unavailable, there was only one option available to him.

Nyssa.

He scrubbed a tired hand over his face, trying to frame the right words for his unorthodox — and undoubtedly unwelcome — request.

When he looked up, he found that she had anticipated him. She was standing by his side, one hand wavering over his arm tentatively.

Looking up at him, she said softly, "It's all right, Doctor. I don't mind." Then she proceeded to pull her velvet doublet up over her head and drop it to the ground.

Beneath she was wearing a simple white camisole over her support garment, and she eased the straps down over her shoulder, tilting her head to one side as she did so. "Hurry," she urged him.

He hesitated, feeling ridiculously as if he were somehow being untrue to Tegan by biting another woman. He quickly dismissed the feeling. There were larger issues at hand, and an infusion of blood would definitely help him fight his growing fatigue. "Thank you," was all he said as he bent his head to Nyssa's neck, his fangs elongating into feeding mode.

He braced himself for the same sort of reaction Tegan always demonstrated — and tried so desperately to cover up — but Nyssa showed no signs of unusual pleasure as he took her blood into his body. She put her hands on his arms, yes, but purely to steady herself; there was no sound of stifled sighs, no pressing of her body against his, nothing inappropriate in their contact at all, outside of the fact that he had his mouth pressed to her neck and was drinking her blood.

He was careful not to take too much; by this point he was well practiced in restraint. Whenever he fed from Tegan, he always had to control himself, to keep from drinking too deeply.

He dreaded his other physiological reaction most of all, but thankfully he felt no urge to engage in sexual relations with Nyssa.

All discoveries that would have to be taken out and reviewed at some point in the future. Provided he had a future in which to contemplate things, of course. "Thank you," he said again as he moved away from her. He handed her a pocket handkerchief and she pressed it to her neck. Why hadn't he licked her wounds the way he did Tegan's, to stop the bleeding?

Best not to dwell on such things at the moment. All that mattered was that he felt much more alert, less sleepy and sharper in all his senses. "How do you feel? Do you want me to take you to your room?" he asked, fighting his need to get out of the TARDIS and face the Master, knowing he'd never forgive himself if Nyssa were to so much as stumble out of weakness on her way to get some rest.

She shook her head. "I'm fine, Doctor, you didn't take more than a pint or two, judging by the way I feel. I'll get something to eat and then rest for a while."

"Try the  _pomjit_  fruit," he advised as he flashed her a quick smile. The smile faded as he turned to face the door, then he glanced over his shoulder at her. "If you're sure…"

Nyssa, still holding the handkerchief to her neck, nodded. "I'm sure. Go save them, Doctor," she urged. "And stop him from hurting anyone else ever again."

**The Master's TARDIS**

The Master strode into the Console Room and surveyed his prisoners with an air of satisfaction. No longer forced into mumbling the endless, complex calculations required to keep Castrovalva functioning, Adric was slumped in his energy web, as much as it would let him do so, of course. Still, his head was resting against the wall and his eyes were shut, no doubt in exhaustion.

Tegan, however was a different matter. She was once again attempting to express her hatred of him purely through the medium of admittedly impressive glare.

He wondered idly how long it would take her to realize that he'd stripped her naked in order to change her into her present costume, then dismissed the thought as irrelevant. He had much better ways to torture her than to taunt her with comments about his assessment of her body's many faults.

The sound of an alarm pinging caught his attention; with a wolfish grin he moved over to the scanner and opened it up. Ah, good. The Doctor had arrived at last. "Company's here, children," he announced, his voice full of gloating anticipation. Finally he would have the Doctor exactly where he wanted him: firmly under his thumb. Forced to do his bidding.

And when that thrill had palled?

He would kill him, kill them all.

He pulled the lever that opened the door.

**oOo**

The Doctor walked into the doorway of the Master's TARDIS and stopped, looking over the other Time Lord's Console Room, so similar in size and shape to his own. He took in the sight of the two captives: Adric was looking back at him, bleary-eyed and blinking, obviously just having been awakened. He offered the Doctor a sort of grim nod, which the Doctor returned even as he noted the signs of exhaustion on the boy's features.

Tegan, on the other hand, simply looked furious. For once he was able to ignore, quite easily, the distraction presented by her heaving chest, even though there was far more of it displayed now than in any of the other clothing he'd seen her wearing.

He waited a second longer before initiating eye contact with the Master, keeping his gaze firm and unwavering, determined to have his way in one thing before surrendering himself. "Let Adric go. You have Tegan to guarantee my behavior, you don't need him anymore."

The Master smirked. "But I told you, Doctor, I have plans…"

"Change them." He knew he was on thin ice, giving the Master orders when the other man clearly held the upper hand, but he was out of patience. "Let Adric go now."

"Or what?" the Master, raising an eyebrow as he deliberately parroted their earlier conversation.

"Or I walk away," he said flatly. "And before you remind me that doing so leads to their deaths, may I remind  _you_  that we all know you have no intention of letting any of us leave your TARDIS alive. But if I leave, then at least I'll still be alive to avenge them. So let Adric go," he finished softly. "If you do, then there's a chance you might actually get what you want from me."

He locked gazes with the Master, who was the first to look away, shoulder raised in a casual shrug as though doing so because he didn't care rather than out of the sure knowledge that he wasn't going to win this one. Without a word he reached under the edge of his console and depressed a button.

Adric stumbled free of the energy web in which he'd been confined for so long, knees trembling but managing to keep to his feet. "Very well, Doctor, he's free," the Master said with a quick eye-roll. "Step inside."

The Doctor gestured Adric forward, ignoring his adversary as he gave the youngster a visual once-over. Satisfied that he was unharmed in any significant manner, he gave his instructions. "My TARDIS is just over the hill. It's been preset to take you and Nyssa far away from the Master's reach, just enter this destination code." He rattled off a string of numbers he knew Adric would easily commit to memory as he dug into his pocket for a TARDIS key, dropping it into Adric's hand as the newly-released captive stepped warily past the Master and stopped in front of his friend.

"But Doctor, I can't just leave you and Tegan!" he protested.

The Doctor gave him an ungentle shove toward the opening just behind them. "Yes you can," he barked, keeping his voice sharp and commanding, making certain Adric understood how deadly serious he was. "Now go."

Adric hesitated a moment longer, looking over his shoulder uncertainly, but the Doctor gave a sharp nod and finally the boy moved, staggering off on unsteady legs into the night. In the proper direction.

He waited until Adric vanished from sight behind the hill that he'd indicated before turning back to the Master. Taking a deep breath, he stepped over the threshold and fully into his enemy's TARDIS.

**oOo**

Adric paused as he reached the hill, then turned back. He couldn't do it, just leave the Doctor and Tegan in the Master's hands. He'd spent too much time as that evil man's captive to allow anyone else to suffer the same fate. Perhaps there was something he could do, a Block Transfer Computation he could perform…

Before he could ponder any further, the Master's TARDIS dematerialized, carrying the Doctor and Tegan away with it to suffer who knew what horrible fate.

Too late.


	11. Patterns of Force

Tegan bit her lip to keep from screaming at the Master to let her go, knowing full well that he would never do so. Not as long as he could use her to control the Doctor.

That had been the gist of his rambling diatribes as he forced her to march to his TARDIS. The Doctor would be forced to do whatever he, the Master, wanted him to do or his Sanguinaria would suffer…

" _For once," he gloated as his time machine came into sight just outside a second city gate, "he doesn't have the option to simply do nothing, to wait me out. Doing nothing will cause harm to one of his precious pets. All I have to do is refuse to allow him to feed off your blood and wait for your symptoms to worsen and I'll have him right where I want him!"_

_She chose that moment to attempt an escape. He was still holding her at gun point, or what she still presumed was gun point in spite of the fact that her single glimpse of his weapon showed nothing but a smooth, silvery tube that looked nothing like any gun she'd ever seen. She gambled on the element of surprise and the darkness to keep her from becoming so much alien road kill as she dropped to the ground and rolled directly into the Master, intent on knocking his legs out from under him._

_That part of the plan worked even better than she'd dared to hope; as she rolled into him, he fell to the ground with a grunt of pain—and even more beautiful to her ears was the sound of his weapon clanging against a rock as it fell out of his hand._

_She quickly scrambled to her feet and tried to run off, only to have her stupid shoe catch between two other rocks and wrench her ankle hard enough to make her cry out as she fell back to the ground._

_The feel of the Master's hand on that ankle, twisting it cruelly to ensure her continued horizontal position, wrenched an even shriller scream of pain from her lips._

_She tried to fight but the pain in her ankle was too much; all she could do was watch as he staggered to his feet and leaned over her, face twisted in rage and one arm raised…_

…and that was all she could remember until waking up to find herself slumped in a pair of medieval manacles and wearing a filmy white gown worthy of the most overwrought Hammer production from the 60s. Oh, and gagged, to top injury with insult.

Judging by the pain still throbbing in her temple, she assumed he'd hit her. Judging by the way he was taunting the Doctor via the medium of the scanner, he thought he was about to get everything he wanted just by taking her prisoner.

She'd never felt so stupid and useless. She'd allowed herself to be tricked and captured, and no matter how many times she told herself they'd all been fooled, even the Doctor, it didn't help.

It was her fault he was being forced to surrender himself to the Master, to walk away from his TARDIS and make his way to this one, which had been brought out of the Vortex and landed at some point after her captor was done posturing and threatening from a distance.

Judging by the heated flush that was rising over her body, the pounding pressure in her head, it was also her fault the Doctor was submitting himself to this fate while in dire need of nourishment.

Blood. He needed blood, and she was stuck here, out of reach and in the Master's hands, all because she was too stupid and stubborn and childish to just stay put and let herself be bored to tears by science talk. Yes, Castrovalva hadn't been real, but the Doctor's need was, and sooner or later he would have found an excuse to take her aside for some privacy and slaked his hunger before it turned into the raging beast they both knew it could become.

Of course, he'd told her she needed him far more than he needed her; had he turned to Nyssa at some point, drunk from her veins, put his lips on her throat and allowed his fangs to pierce her skin?

She was surprised by the stab of jealousy that image brought her and she did her best to push it aside. If the Doctor needed blood, then she should just be glad he had a way to feed before giving himself over to the Master's non-existent mercies.

The moment for which, apparently, had arrived. There was movement on the scanner, the faint image of a single figure approaching the Master's TARDIS through the darkness, coming to a stop just outside the door.

"Perfect," the Master murmured as he reached over and pulled the lever that would allow the Doctor to walk willingly to his doom. Tegan shuddered and fought the urge to cry out a warning; what good would it do? The Doctor was turning himself over to save her and Adric and there was nothing she could do about it.

As she watched the conversation unfold, however, it became clear that The Doctor had different plans, and she felt a rush of relief as he successfully negotiated Adric's release from captivity. At least he and Nyssa were well out of it, she consoled herself as the Doctor fully entered the Master's TARDIS.

She studied him closely, looking for signs that he either needed blood or had recently drunk his fill, angered by her inability to tell. His eyes were red, but his fury with the Master could easily account for that. His movements were deliberate, no signs of distress there, but that wasn't necessarily a clue either. It was frustrating, not knowing, feeling the signs of her own distress, her need to be relieved of her excess blood growing stronger and stronger, but she couldn't just blurt out the questions that were burning her up. Wouldn't the Master just  _love_  to see her do that.

She watched the Doctor as he took a few more steps, ignoring the Master as he boasted about how his TARDIS controls were isomorphic and there was nothing they could do to escape, blah, blah, blah. Instead, his entire focus was on Tegan, and she felt both flattered and unnerved by the way his eyes went flat and cold as he studied her, taking in the bruising on the side of her face, his anger discernible even beneath the overlying red that still flooded his eyes.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, taking a step toward her but stopping when the Master moved between them, his weapon leveled at the Doctor's mid-section in unspoken – and completely unnecessary – threat.

She swallowed and nodded, wincing as the pain increased with the movement. He'd already noted the bruises on her face, she had to admit to that much, but… "It's just my head, I'll be fine," she lied when she felt capable of keeping her voice steady. And her wrists, and her ankle...but she kept those pains to herself. The Doctor had enough on his plate, he didn't need to be worrying about her when he should be focusing on getting the two of them out of this trap. But she couldn't help adding: "He hit me," in a spiteful voice as she glared at the Master.

Who appeared supremely unmoved by her ire, easy to tell even though he was facing away from her. "As Miss Jovanka says, she's fine," he said dismissively. "And she will continue to be fine. Unless, of course, the two of us are unable to come to an…arrangement."

"What kind of arrangement?" the Doctor asked as he moved a few steps closer to the TARDIS console, away from her this time.

The Master remained focused on the Doctor, the gun not wavering an inch even as he allowed his fellow Time Lord to approach, and Tegan wondered what would happen if the Doctor rushed at him with that incredible new speed of his. Would the Master's reflexes be fast enough for him to still hit his target, or would this endless hostage situation finally be over?

Either the Doctor wasn't confident of the answer to that question or was holding back for some other reason, since he continued to move only at normal speed. For now, he'd stopped on the opposite side of the console to her and the Master, which gave her the dubious advantage of being able to study their captor's features instead of just glaring at the back of his head.

"Oh, there will be plenty of time to iron out the details," the Master said with a careless wave of his free hand. "I thought we might have a little…chat…first. Just the three of us."

"Chat? About what?" Tegan asked incredulously. She tugged futilely against her chains, wishing for just ten seconds free to throttle the arrogant smirk off his face.

"Shoes and ships and sealing wax?" was the Doctor's sarcastic response. He tucked his hands into his front pockets and regarded the Master with an intent expression best described as "cat in front of mouse hole."

That the Master remained unintimidated went without saying. Ignoring both questions, his smiled broadened as he looked directly into the Doctor's eyes and said softly, "Family history."

That caught the Doctor's attention; he stiffened as if the Master had offered a deadly insult, his eyes darting to meet Tegan's confused gaze for a second before settling back on the Master's face as his hands pulled free of his pockets and dropped to his sides in clenched fists. "I'd rather not, if you don't mind. Too boring for Tegan. Why don't you just skip to the part where you try to threaten me into doing whatever it is you want me to do?"

"But surely Miss Jovanka deserves to know what kind of person she's become…involved…with, Doctor."

Did the man ever speak without mockery underscoring every blasted word? "We're not  _involved_ , we were forced together by circumstances," she snapped. "And as soon as we find a cure for me, I'm going back home. To Earth, to the life you lot interrupted."

Was it her imagination or did the Doctor give the slightest wince at her words, as if they'd hurt him? Surely that was just a case of wishful thinking; he must want to be rid of her and the burden she represented as much as she wanted to get her own life and normal Human body back. Didn't he?

"I suppose such fantasies are a useful coping mechanism for someone of your limited mental capacities," the Master sneered, looking her up and down as if she were a particularly nasty mess he was being forced to deal with.

While the Master's attention was on her, the Doctor finally moved with that unexpected speed he'd demonstrated in the wardrobe room back on his own TARDIS. One second he was standing next to the Master's console, the next he was in front of Tegan, reaching up to wrench at the manacles encircling her wrists.

He screamed, and Tegan screamed as well, in surprise and terror when she saw the raw pain on the Doctor's face as his hands closed over the metal encasing her wrists. He wasn't letting go, why wasn't he letting go when it was hurting him, burning him, so badly? When she could literally see and smell and taste the smoke curling from between his fingers where they clung to her restraints as if unable to free themselves?

Oh, the Master. Of course. He was standing next to his console with a finger stabbing down on a single, nondescript button. There was a wicked grin distorting his features, his carefully groomed beard and moustache no disguise for that twist of the lips. "What are you doing? Stop it!" she cried out, trying to pull her arms away from the Doctor, to twist the cuffs out from beneath his still-clenched and burning hands.

With a theatrical flourish the Master pulled his finger away, twirling his hand near his face and then offering a deep, sardonic bow. "As you wish, my dear."

The Doctor's hands peeled themselves away from the manacles as if by their own accord and not due to any actual intent on his part, red and blistered and ( _Oh God!_ ) charred in places, black and bleeding and still smoking even though contact had been broken — how had the Master done that, imprisoned his hands with no show of energy, no sensation against her own skin except the heat coming from the Doctor's damaged flesh?

Eyes rolling far back in his head, he collapsed to the floor, gasping and convulsing in agony. Tegan cried out, but the Master only chuckled. Of course he did; he'd planned this, done something to the manacles still trapping Tegan's wrists in order to hurt the Doctor.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," the Master said with oily unctuousness, "did I neglect to tell you the manacles and chains are of pure Tirellium silver? Disguised by a clever little holographic projection to give them an air of authenticity, but since you've managed to reveal their true nature, I don't think I'll bother any longer."

He moved to the other side of the console, keeping a wary eye on the Doctor's writhing form in spite of the airy tone of voice he was currently employing. Once there he moved a series of levers and buttons, until suddenly the black manacles were revealed to be silver, as he'd said —and as the Doctor's unfortunate reaction had already proven. "Sorry about the temporary molecular bonding, but I did need to make certain you absorbed enough of the silver to do some real damage."

"Doctor, are you all right?" Tegan cried out. His body had stilled and his head was down, his face hidden as he lay curled up on himself in a tight ball. The smoke had finally stopped pouring off his hands but she couldn't tell much else from her limited vantage point. She transferred her agonized gaze to the Master. "You have to help him!"

"No, I don't," he said flatly, all traces of amused superiority vanished as he glared at her. "His body will heal itself, never fear. In time." He sounded very satisfied with himself, and who could blame him? He'd baited a trap within a trap, and the Doctor had fallen for it both times.

All Tegan could do was watch helplessly as the Master shoved the Doctor onto his back with the toes of one black-booted foot. His eyes were closed, his face slack in apparent unconsciousness, and Tegan felt her heart hitch at the sight. Only the fact that she could see his chest moving as he breathed, short, panting breaths, kept her from full-blown panic. If he died, she wouldn't be long for this world either. She hated being so selfish, but it was hard not to fret over her own fate when it was so closely linked to his.

The Master studied the still form of his adversary for a long moment before a smile creased his face once again. "Not pretending. I thought not. Tirellium silver is among the purest to be found in the Universe, and his body will take some to time to recover from the poisoning. He'll be unconscious for at least a few more minutes."

"What do you mean, poisoning?" Tegan demanded, transferring her gaze back to the Master. "I thought he was just burned!"

"Oh, that's just a secondary symptom," he said in the same airy tone he'd used earlier. Easy enough to feel safe now that he'd incapacitated his foe, Tegan thought bitterly, watching helplessly as the Master took the opportunity to remove a pair of dull gray metal manacles from somewhere in his console's base and quickly bound the Doctor's arms behind his back.

Her stomach churned and she felt the bile rising in her throat as she saw the Doctor's hands, blistered and red in places where the skin hadn't actually burnt off, even worse than that first glimpse she'd had. She averted her eyes in an effort to wrestle her revulsion into submission, forcing herself to listen to as Master's gloating lecture continued.

"Once the outer dermal layer has been penetrated by the burning action, the silver reacts with a vampire's blood as if it were, indeed, a conventional poison, quickly spreading throughout the body and rendering said vampire temporarily incapacitated. Prolonged contact can lead to death, of course, but he didn't receive nearly enough of a dose for that, fortunately for both of you."

He stepped away from the Doctor, watching impassively as his captive's eyelids fluttered. He rolled onto his side, groaned, and managed to maneuver himself to his knees.

"Are you all right?" Tegan asked, feeling like a broken record but unable to think of anything else to ask. At least he'd recovered faster than the Master had predicted; surely that was a good sign?

"I will admit to having felt better," the Doctor croaked, but at least he was holding on to his sense of humor, even considering their current straits.

When he started to lurch to his feet, however, the Master waved the weapon under his nose, forcing him to settle back onto his knees. "That's far enough, Doctor. Don't make me put you in your own Tirellium restraints, hm? That would be even more uncomfortable, I imagine."

He was clearly enjoying this, having the Doctor under his power and causing the two of them so much pain. Undoubtedly he was reveling in the knowledge that he could use them against one another…it was disgusting. Sickening.

And if the Doctor didn't have a plan, there was only one way Tegan knew that could end it.

That hope was the only thing that kept her from working up the nerve to put her own hastily-realized thoughts into action.

The only thing that kept her from trying to goad the Master into killing her.

**oOo**

There was something on Tegan's mind. Her emotions had been all over the place ever since he'd arrived — and it was time he admitted that it wasn't just his ability to read her, that he was very definitely sensing her actual emotions since their mutual regenerative experiences — but she seemed to have settled on something, to have reached some kind of decision or conclusion that had steadied her into a sort of determination.

Whatever it might be, it set the hairs on the back of the Doctor's neck to stirring. He only hoped she hadn't formulated some desperate, half-baked plan of escape of her own, especially since he would be less than useless to her at the moment.

It wasn't just the pain of his burned hands that held him back, although that was severe enough on its own. It was the poison that was doing the most damage. He could practically feel it spreading through his veins, invading his nervous system and doing its best to render him completely immobile.

He suspected it was only the fact that he'd taken blood from Nyssa less than an hour ago that saved him from that particular fate. And he would probably have to ingest more blood before he would fully recover. Certainly the oozing wounds in his hands were taking far too long to heal.

None of which he could simply blurt out to Tegan; although the Master knew they were both desperately trying to figure a way out of this mess, there was no sense in alerting him to additional weaknesses in the meantime.

The Master, meanwhile, had cocked his head to one side in a considering manner as he turned his attention back to Tegan. "Now my dear, do you recall what we talking about before the Doctor's unfortunate attempt to free you?"

"I don't remember and I don't care," Tegan spat back. Good girl, soldiering on in spite of the obvious pain she was undergoing — pain he only now was realizing was more severe than she'd originally let on. His eyes narrowed as he took in the red rawness of her wrists, the way she seemed to be favoring her left ankle. So much for "fine."

Hoping to keep the Master focused on himself, he made once again as if to rise to his feet, only to feel the other man's boot in his chest as he shoved him back down. His head hit the floor with a dull thud; Tegan cried out another protest, and stars danced before his eyes just long enough to convince him he was about to lose consciousness again.

**oOo**

Tegan watched the Doctor as he struggled not to pass out again. She strained against her bonds, wanting desperately to go to his side, to help him, but of course the Master was having none of that.

With a nasty chuckle he turned his attention back to her. "So. Where were we? Ah, yes, of course. The Doctor's family secrets. Don't tell me he's yet to share with you the truth about his — how would you characterize the relationship, Doctor? Great Uncle, once or twice removed? On his mother's side, of course," the Master added. As if it mattered which side of the family tree he was implying nasty things about.

Tegan found the false, syrupy sympathy in the Master's voice incredibly grating; she was ready to tell him to shut it and damn the consequences, but the Doctor beat her to it.

"It's not relevant," he snarled. "So I suggest you change the subject.  _Now_."

The Master appeared not the least bit intimidated; he sniffed disdainfully as he turned back to Tegan. "It's a relationship difficult to describe to anyone unfamiliar with Gallifreyan genealogy, as I presume you still are. Although," he added with a considering tilt of the head, "I suppose you are practically family now, so it's possible he's tried to fill you in?" He grinned, not a pleasant sight, and she suspected him of a nasty double entendre although she couldn't prove it without asking. Not an option. "So, Miss Jovanka, have you two become close enough to learn all the Doctor's deep, dark secrets?"

Although Tegan despised the insinuating tone of the Master's voice, she couldn't help but feel a stirring of curiosity about what secrets he was hinting at. Family secrets about some uncle, apparently, but really, what business was it of hers if the Doctor's family had secrets? What family didn't?

Whatever it was, she thought, casting a glance toward her fellow captive, it wasn't anything good — but judging by the way the Doctor was glaring at his adversary, it must also be true, or it wouldn't be bothering him this much. "I don't know everything about him," she finally replied to the Master's taunting question, when it appeared he was actually waiting for an answer. "But he doesn't know all of my secrets, either."

The Master moved closer, stopping only when he was right next to her, the gun firmly pressed against her side as he reached up with his free hand and twisted her face toward his. But his attention was on her neck, and she felt her face flush as she realized he was studying the red marks left by the Doctor's fangs.

It was eerily similar to the time the Doctor had done the same thing, without the undertones of sexual tension that encounter had awakened. The only thing she felt now was a combination of shame and disgust as the Master finally released her. "Oh, I daresay he does," he said in response to her earlier attempt at a defiant retort. "I'm sure he's learned every little last one of whatever pathetic Human secrets your heart might hold." He looked down at the Doctor with a smirk. "But the Doctor's secrets — and there are many, of that I can assure you — are not so easily learned. Unless you have someone like me, so generously willing to share them with you."

"Stop trying to frighten her!" the Doctor snarled, but there were lines of tension around his eyes and mouth; what was the Master hinting at, what could be so bad that the Doctor didn't want her to hear it?

_Loads of things,_  her mind whispered, sending a sliver of ice down her spine.

When the Master spoke, she realized just how awful, how devastating, the Doctor's secrets could be.

"He knew the vampire taint was in his family's bloodline, since his great uncle — the one on his mother's side I just mentioned — was the last Time Lord on record to undergo a Blood Regeneration, four hundred years ago."

Tegan had had the rug pulled out from beneath her so frequently since the road to Heathrow that she shouldn't have been surprised to hear something else that was designed to tumble her to the floor, metaphorically speaking. Still, the Master's accusation caught her like a blow to the stomach; she sucked in her breath and focused her gaze on the Doctor's face, willing him to declare those words a lie.

Because if he didn't, if he'd left Gallifrey knowing that the ancient taint was definitely within his own family's bloodline, then he'd been more than willfully blind to the possibility of succumbing to this particular curse. He'd been criminally careless with the lives of those who traveled with him. Those who, until this regeneration, never knew what kind of danger they could face.

Before she could even begin to try and process this disturbing revelation, before the Doctor could answer her unspoken question, the Master interrupted again. Peering down at the Doctor he said in tones of false concern: "Why Doctor, you don't look well at all! I don't believe your body is healing itself as quickly as it should be. Could it be you need a little…something…to get you back on your feet?"

Tegan locked eyes with the Doctor, his still scarlet, hers wide with shock as she realized what the Master was implying. She shook her head, her mind still reeling from what she'd just learned about his family history, feeling nothing but revulsion at the thought of him biting her no matter how badly he needed her. Or she him.

The Master grabbed Tegan by the neck as he finished speaking, making his meaning quite clear even if both listeners weren't already aware of what he was saying. "Come, now Doctor, we both know you're still suffering from silver poisoning. It isn't clearing itself out of your system as swiftly as it would if you…had a bite to eat, shall we say?"

His expression dropped into an exaggerated frown as he took in Tegan's terrified features. "What, not feeling so kindly disposed toward our resident vampire at the moment, Miss Jovanka? Why ever not? Just because he neglected to tell you a few pertinent facts about his personal history is no reason to deny him in his hour of need, is it?"

The honest truth was, no matter how conflicted she felt at the moment, she knew she could do no such thing. Not when her own blood was pounding in her veins, as much in response to the Doctor's physical distress as to her justifiable emotional turmoil. Worse, she could feel the flush spreading across her, the feverish intensity that told her the excess blood she'd already been producing was increasing in response to his injuries.

And the Master was clearly delighting in this situation; he had probably manipulated things so it would work out exactly this way. But why? Just to torture the two of them, or was it something more sinister? Was he hoping to horrify her so much by revealing the Doctor's family history that she refused to let him touch her?

Fat chance on that. She didn't want him to; the idea was downright nauseating in light of what she suspected was the first truthful thing the Master had ever uttered in her presence, but it was her life in the balance as well. If he expected her to refuse, and she didn't…She sucked in a horrified breath as another scenario flashed across her mind.

What if he refused to allow the Doctor to take her blood? What if he wanted to watch his fellow Time Lord, his enemy, die in front of her, and then let her die, too? She was willing to sacrifice herself for others, but much less enthusiastic about dying for no good reason other than a madman having no use for her alive.

Her oldest brother, Phil, had always told her she had too vivid an imagination. She prayed he was right.

It took all her courage to tear her eyes away from the Doctor and look directly into the Master's smirking face. "Well?" she snapped, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. "Are you going to let him bite me or not?"


	12. Balance of Terror

Tegan's defiant words hung in the air for a long, long minute before the Master replied.

To the Doctor's relief — Tegan's too, no doubt as to that since her very expressive face would have given her away even if he couldn't feel her emotions through the pain wracking his body — the Master said just one word. "Yes."

He said "Yes." He was going to allow him to bite Tegan. Good. That meant she would have to be unchained, because in his current, weakened condition, he couldn't manage such a close encounter with more of the Tirellium silver. One accidental touch and he would be worse off than he was now.

Unless, of course, that was the idea, and the Master's "yes" was nothing but a ploy. Not impossible, but the Doctor was gambling that the man who'd concocted such elaborate attempts on his life in the past wasn't going to be content with simply watching him die from silver poisoning.

No, that would be far too easy. The Master wouldn't feel as if he'd actually won unless his enemy died in some Machiavellian scheme, caught up in a Rube Goldberg device of such diabolical deviousness that the Doctor would be forced to admire its cleverness before being smashed in its mechanisms.

Not that he intended any such outcome, of course. He had plans of his own, and none of them involved his own death.

The death of his enemy, on the other hand…

_He has to be stopped._ Nyssa's words, her tacit approval of any plan that ended with the Master's death, rang through his mind. He doubted Adric would have any objections, either, certainly not after watching as his fourth self plunged an Arrow ship into the Vampire King's heart back in E-Space. Adric understood that evil needed to be stopped.

The question was, would Tegan?

No time for further speculation. The Master, weapon firmly pressed against Tegan's side, was using his free hand to work the controls of a small hand-held device, most likely some sort of metallurgical molecular de-stabilizer…ah, yes. The manacles on Tegan's wrists sprang open and she nearly fell to the floor at the sudden lack of support. Her left ankle was definitely twisted if not sprained, part of his mind noted, but it was her wrists that were giving her the most trouble. They were rubbed raw and he felt his temper fraying toward the same state; couldn't the bastard at least put some kind of protective layer on the damned restraints before forcing her to wear them?

Of course not. Maximum damage, minimum effort. Not to mention how distracting the scent of Tegan's oozing blood was now that it was no longer masked by the thick silver cuffs. All designed to keep the two of them off-balance, distracted.

He needed to focus if he was going to outwit his foe, and not on the way the bodice of Tegan's gown was clinging to her torso like a second skin…

The Doctor shook his head to try and clear it, only to discover what a terrible idea that was when it set off a wave of pain spinning through his brain, pinwheels of light exploding behind his eyes. The poison was spreading, he needed blood, needed it now, could barely think for the pounding in his head and the stabbing pain invading every part of his body.

There was a noise, what was it…oh, the Master was laughing at him, delighted to see him so humbled by mere physical pain. Bastard. He deserved to die for that alone.

The Doctor's thoughts scrambled and churned into nothing recognizable as his fangs extended fully into feeding mode. Vaguely he heard Tegan demanding to be allowed to go to him, the Master's mocking voice giving permission, then everything faded behind the rush and flow of his blood, filling his ears, drowning out all other noises.

**oOo**

Tegan struggled in the Master's grip. The Doctor's eyes, already flooded with red, were now speckled with flecks of silver and he writhed as if in the clutch of a pain even worse than what he'd suffered during regeneration. She tried to rush to his side, only to have the Master catch and hold her arm with a mocking chuckle. He'd dropped the little electronic thingy he'd used to release her from the manacles but still held his weapon firmly in his other hand. When he pointed it at the Doctor, she got the hint and stopped struggling to free herself.

Her agonized gaze locked on the Doctor's pain-wracked form, she cried out: "Please! You have to let me go to him!"

The Master released his grip on her arm as if she truly had said the magic word. "By all means, do so, Miss Jovanka. Allow him to sink his fangs into your dainty little neck and drain your blood. But remember, my dear, who holds the upper hand. If you think he will recover quickly enough to do me any harm, think again. He's absorbed enough of the Tirellium silver to kill him ten times over, and that sort of damage takes time to recover from. By the time he's in any condition to try and overpower me, I can assure you, you'll have been locked away out of his reach." The sneer was plain in his voice as he added: "And he'll never let you die just to save himself. Once he's recovered from this he'll be doing my bidding, mark my words."

"Fine, whatever, just leave us be!" With that Tegan dropped to the floor and rushed over to the Doctor at a fast crawl, not trusting her injured ankle to hold her for even the few steps it would have taken her to walk to him. She hefted him into her arms, turning his head so his eyes met hers.

She shuddered at the sight. They were as blank, as mindless, as they'd been during regeneration, that eerie gaze made even more frightening by the flood of red and spangles of silver that seemed to crawl across his eyes like living things. "Doctor," she said, pitching her voice low, straining to keep her mounting terror from breaking through. "Doctor, can you hear me? You have to drink my blood, come on, fight this!"

With a near sob she watched as some semblance of awareness crept into his eyes. He locked his gaze with hers and gave a faint nod, opening his mouth and flashing his elongated fangs as she lowered her head, presenting her neck so he could bite her.

There was only the faintest frisson of pleasure this time as his fangs sank into her jugular, overwhelmed by her fear that he would die…and that she would swiftly follow. What if the Master had left it too long, what if the Doctor didn't recover even after drinking her blood?

At first his lips were tentative against the flesh of her throat, but slowly she felt him gaining strength, sucking eagerly as the influx of blood rejuvenated him. Soon he was able to raise himself into a less awkward position, lips still fastened to her throat, blood still flowing from her body to his, and relief flooded over her.

He was going to survive. They both were. Now all they had to do was best the Master and this would all be over with.

**oOo**

_The blood is the life._

The strange voice with its even stranger accent drifted across the Doctor's mind as he fed. Whose voice was it, where had he heard it?

_The blood is the life._  Well, yes, of course it was. And it tasted marvelous, filling his mouth and flowing down his throat. Tegan's blood. Yes, Nyssa's had had its own unique flavor and texture, but Tegan's blood was what he needed, what he craved, like a fine wine compared to a vin ordinaire…

_I don't drink…wine._

How ridiculous, no one drank  _vine_ …oh, it was the accent. He meant  _wine_. Who? Oh yes – Bela Lugosi, how stupid of him to forget. The original cinematic Dracula. A charming man in his youth, a pity how he'd died...Bela, of course. Not Dracula. He wasn't real. Was he?

_Focus!_ some other part of his mind snapped.  _You're getting stronger, Tegan's blood is healing you, forcing the silver out of your system. If you're going to save her from a lifetime as the Master's prisoner, you have to do something NOW!_

His eyes snapped open. He was still latched on to Tegan, still gulping down liter after liter of her fresh, warm blood, and he forced himself to slow the speed at which he was drinking lest he take too much. She was already injured and terrified and no doubt reeling from the Master's revelations about his family history; no need to add "fainting from blood loss" to the list.

Especially if he was about to engage the Master in a fight to the death. At the very least she needed to be able to crawl away from the melee that was about to erupt…now.

**oOo**

Tegan gasped. One minute the Doctor's fangs were sunk deep into her neck as he desperately drank her blood, the next she was lying on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling as he wrenched himself away from her, moving in a blur to head-butt the Master onto his black velvet-clad ass, fangs snapping at the other man's jugular.

But not to feed; it took her reeling mind a moment to take it all in, but it looked very much like the Doctor was about to tear the Master's throat out.

Not that the Master was going down without a fight; his hands were shoving at the Doctor's face, palms to chin, straining to keep the snapping jaws from making contact, his only advantage the fact that his adversary's arms were still bound behind his back.

With a shriek of tearing metal, those bonds ripped apart, a length of the central chain spinning through the air to fall to the floor with a dull clank. The Doctor was free.

Tegan watched with equal parts terror and relief as he broke the Master's grip with inhuman ease, shoving the other man's arms aside as if brushing off a fly. A gasp escaped the Master's lips and his eyes widened as he realized how very badly he'd miscalculated.

The Doctor's lips peeled back from his teeth in a vicious smile, his fangs extended and ready to sink themselves into the Master's jugular, to rip his throat out. Just as Tegan had feared. The Doctor's hands were wrenching the other man's head to the side, exposing his neck and giving him better access to his target.

Tegan knew, deep within her soul, that he intended to kill the Master. No, not just kill him.

_Murder_  him.

And she was the only one who could stop him.

Time seemed to slow, the way she'd often heard it described but never experienced for herself. She gathered her legs beneath her and pushed herself off the floor, ignoring the tearing pain in her ankle as she rushed over to the struggling forms, snatching up the broken length of metal chain from the Doctor's manacles and swinging it as hard as she could…

…at the Doctor's head.

He collapsed without a sound across the Master's chest. Before the other man could do more than gape at her, with a hoarse cry she raised the chain up and smashed it into his face.

The Master went out as suddenly as the Doctor had. Fearing a trap, she nudged his head with her foot, unconsciously mimicking his earlier actions against the Doctor. No, he was definitely out cold. Good. Ignoring the blood pouring down his face from what she hoped was a broken nose, she sank to her knees and hauled at the Doctor's inert form, grunting in effort and trying to ignore the increasing pain in her head, her wrists, her ankle, the dizzying weakness from blood loss. Thank God her body had already been producing excess blood before he ever set foot on this TARDIS, or she'd probably have passed out herself by now.

There was blood flowing from the gash on the back of his head, but the CPR courses she'd taken in as part of her air hostess training kicked in and she remembered that head wounds usually looked worse than they usually were.

She hoped that also applied to Time Lords. He certainly couldn't replace any of the lost blood while he was out cold, but she'd worry about that after she got him off the Master's TARDIS.

She dragged him off the Master's body, lying him carefully on his side before standing up and hunting for the door control on the TARDIS console. Everything went a bit wobbly and she shut her eyes for a moment, willing her head to stop spinning. Now was not the time to play the fainting damsel.

When she felt more in control of herself, she opened her eyes and continued to scan the console, searching for the lever that worked the doors. The Master had said something about his controls being isomorphic, but as she spied her goal, she gambled that he meant only the ones that actually flew this machine, that it wouldn't apply to something as basic as a door knob.

Gambled, and won. She offered up a quick, inarticulate prayer ( _thankyouthankyouthankyou_ ) when the exterior door swung inward, revealing for the second time the night-darkened landscape of the unidentified planet the Master had chosen as their destination.

Whatever. As long as it was night and had a breathable atmosphere, she could care less about the details. She just needed to drag the Doctor off the Master's TARDIS, get him settled, then come back and see if there was some way to tie their foe up. Once he was restrained, only then would she try and bring the Doctor back to consciousness, to do her best to talk sense into him.

He couldn't just go around murdering people, even people as evil as the Master. He couldn't just let himself sink to that level, even if he was a vampire now.

She wouldn't let him.

She turned back to regard her handiwork, feeling a moment's dismay at the sight of the two unconscious, bleeding forms sprawled on the Console Room floor. Then she shook it off and looked for the Master's weapon, limping a bit but nowhere near as much as she knew she would be if it wasn't for the pure adrenaline she was running on at the moment. There, just under his left leg. Good. She snatched it up and tucked it into her cleavage, lacking any better place to store it. Thankfully it was made of some lightweight metal and not much longer than her palm.

That taken care of, she turned her attention to the Doctor.

She should just leave him there but in spite of the adrenaline rush, her mind was cloudy, sluggish; all she could think about was putting some physical distance between the two adversaries before they woke up. She would just drag the Doctor outside, then take care of tying up the Master. They could deal with their prisoner after the Doctor recovered his senses. There had to be somewhere they could take him; back to his home planet, perhaps, to face justice on Gallifrey?

Nothing she needed to worry about now; too much to do, not enough time... Head pounding, gasping with effort, she grasped the Doctor by the wrists and heaved him out the doors and onto the cool grass in which the Master's TARDIS had landed.

She got him settled, skimming her fingers over the wound she'd inflicted, wincing at the knot she felt. Still, it was better than finding an indentation that would indicate she'd cracked his skull.

Either way, she knew he was going to be furious with her when he regained consciousness. Which was fine, because she was plenty angry with him, too.

She raised a shaking hand to her forehead, wiping away the sweat that was dripping into her eyes. It was time to deal with the Master, now that she had the Doctor safely out of the way. She staggered wearily to her feet, crying out in pain as her ankle gave way beneath her, dropping her heavily to the ground.

Sobbing, she dragged herself back up to her knees, the stupid dress seeming to do its best to keep her down by tangling around her limbs. "Just a little more, you can do this," she encouraged herself through clenched teeth as she fought to free herself from the clinging fabric. But when she'd dealt with that issue and tried to put weight on her ankle again it refused to cooperate. Her vision went red as pain exploded throughout her body, and she collapsed once again to the ground.

When her vision cleared, she realized with growing panic that the door to the Master's TARDIS was no longer open. He must have regained consciousness, and she cursed herself as three kinds of a fool for wasting time fiddling about instead of just tying him up first thing — hadn't she read enough romantic novels where the heroine had to do that very thing by tearing strips from her skirts?

Stupid, she was so stupid, but her head was far from clear and she'd been so focused on trying to keep the Doctor from murdering him…what if that mistake cost them their lives now? She couldn't drag herself further away, let alone the Doctor; what if the Master unleashed whatever electronic weapon she was told he'd used to render Adric and the Pharos Project guards unconscious?

She was braced for anything; for electronic lightning to strike, for the doors to open once again and reveal the Master's gloating form holding some weapon even more powerful than the one she'd stolen — and had no idea how to use since it had no obvious buttons to depress — for anything to happen, none of it good.

What she didn't expect was the sound of the Master's voice over some kind of loudspeaker or PA system, echoing through the night. "Exile on an uninhabited planet. Excellent choice, my dear. I applaud your pioneer spirit. The two of you should be very comfortable here, far away from any form of civilization, off any major space lines, on a planet with no notable resources to tempt even the most desperate prospector."

He sounded a bit nasally; so she'd broken his nose after all. Good. Still, his taunt couldn't go unanswered, not when it meant he was going to abandon them. "You can't just leave us here!" she shouted, although she knew it was a futile effort.

"Oh, but I can, Miss Jovanka, and I will," came his mocking response. "For now, at any rate. You've both turned out to be more trouble than I feel like dealing with at the moment. But never fear, I shall return. If the Doctor hasn't burnt up when the sun rises in another half-hour, that is." His mocking laughter rang out, chilling Tegan to the core. "You've managed to select the ideal place to jump ship. Ideal for me, that is. There isn't so much as a shrub for miles around. Even at his top speed the Doctor will never make it to shelter in time."

Tegan's heart thudded in her chest; how could she have miscalculated so badly? "I saved your life!" she shouted, fury overriding panic for the moment. "You can't just leave us here to die!"

There was a pause, as if he was considering her words, and she felt a cautious hope stirring in her chest. A hope that died as soon as he spoke again: "If I believed you had any concern for me at all, your words might mean something. But since I know you only stopped the Doctor from killing me because of your feelings for him, your actions mean nothing to me. Absolutely nothing."

With another mocking laugh, his TARDIS began to dematerialize while Tegan watched, dazed, stricken. Horrified.

What had she done?

Another sob tore itself from her throat, but before she could give in to the tears straining to free themselves she heard a groan from the Doctor. Thank God, he was finally regaining consciousness. With a feeling of dread and guilt settling in her stomach, her throat aching from unshed tears, she managed to crawl over to him, fighting the exhaustion and pain and weakness that were combining to try and drag her under, to send her crashing into a darkness more encompassing than night surrounding her.

The Doctor might have endangered them all by not telling them about his great-uncle the bloodsucker, but she'd doomed him by her impulsive actions on the Master's TARDIS.

Doomed them both.

**oOo**

What happened? Where was he, why was he lying down on…grass? Was that grass? His fingers grazed the soft surface beneath his hand. Yes, definitely grass. Why did the Master have grass on his TARDIS?

He opened his eyes a crack, then opened them wider as he saw stars. Real stars, stars in an unfamiliar night sky. So. Not on the Master's TARDIS any longer. But where? And where was Tegan?

Tegan.

Memory came rushing back. Tegan had hit him…why? He reached up and felt the back of his head, wincing at the tender spot. She'd hit with something heavy, probably the chain from his manacles. But the question remained: Why? What had possessed her…

Of course. She knew he was going to kill the Master and in spite of everything the bastard had done, to her and to the Universe at large, she didn't want him, the Doctor, acting as executioner. Admirable under any other circumstances, her compassion for an enemy, but completely inappropriate at this particular moment in time.

He maneuvered himself up on his elbows but was unable to suppress a groan at the wave of pain that movement caused.

The sound of rustling in the grass caught his attention, and his night-attuned eyes quickly found the source. Tegan, crawling toward him on hands and knees, the trailing skirts of her white gown bunched up and fisted in one hand. He'd known she was there even though he hadn't seen her right away, radiating distress and pain and…guilt? Well, of course, she'd hit him on the head, after all. Guilt was the least of what she'd be feeling when he was done with her.

Because in spite of the icy calm of his thought processes, he knew it was just a cover for the fury boiling up inside him. He'd had the Master, was about to finish him off, and she'd stopped him. She'd had no right, no right at all, and he was going to let her know exactly how he felt about it.

The sight of her anxious, pain-filled face — tear-streaked as well, she was crying, for Rassilon's sake, and he hadn't even begun shouting at her yet — stopped the words in his throat.

"I'm sorry," she croaked as she reached his side, fingers reaching blindly for his face. Of course, she couldn't see much in the darkness, with only the faint starlight keeping it from being completely black. "I thought…I didn't want you to kill him, that's the sort of thing  _he'd_  do, but he's left us and he says the sun is coming soon and there's no shelter and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

So the Master had abandoned them, presumably to die. No big surprise there, since he was a coward at heart; put up enough of a fight and he'd turn and run. Apparently they'd turned out to be more trouble than they were worth, and he'd dumped them off here. With the sun about to rise and no shelter, if Tegan's babbling could be taken at face value.

He levered himself to a sitting position. The silver had been completely purged from his system but at the expense of his healing process being too depleted to do anything more. His head ached abominably and he'd lost blood and Tegan was in no condition for him to take any from her.

Still, he managed to pull himself to his knees and from there to a standing position, taking a careful look around.

Tegan was right; there was no shelter for miles and the scent of dawn in the air.

It was lucky for them both that they weren't as stranded as either she or the Master believed.

"Doctor? What are you doing? Should you be on your feet?"

Tegan sounded worried, and he carefully tamped down on the renewed rage he felt at hearing her voice, timid and unsure as it was. That row was to be saved for later. Right now he needed to focus on getting them off this rock and back onto his TARDIS.

He ignored her as he reached into his jacket pocket. Was it still there? Yes. He smiled as his fingers closed around his sonic screwdriver. He pulled it out, squinting just a bit as he pressed a certain sequence into its control pad and double-checked the numbers on the miniature screen that immediately popped into existence.

"Doctor? What are you doing?"

She sounded less uncertain, more like her usual, querulous self, and he smiled in the darkness. Oh, he was still furious with her, but he much preferred her spirited and demanding to meek and submissive. "I'm arranging transport, Tegan, do be quiet and let me work," he answered, knowing his absent tone and patronizing words would infuriate her.

She sputtered and seethed but said nothing he needed to respond to. Good. He held up the sonic screwdriver and squinted at it again as nothing happened. With a scowl he slapped it against his palm, then held it up for a second time.

This time a steady blue light sprang from its tip, startling a yelp from Tegan. He ignored her, concentrating on the tiny screen, the sequence of numbers that crawled across it, and wished he had a pair of ocular filtration spectacles handy to help bring the tiny stream of data into better focus. Perhaps he'd scare up a pair when they were back on the TARDIS. Not only would they come in handy, they'd serve the added bonus of making him look even more clever than he actually was.

Ah, good. The TARDIS. The familiar wheezing-grinding sound of materialization assaulted their ears, and he felt his lips stretching in a satisfied smile. His grin faded at the sound of Tegan's startled gasp, and morphed into a scowl as his anger came surging back. He returned to her side, bending down to take her in his arms after shoving his sonic screwdriver-turned-homing-beacon back into his pocket.

She gasped again when he held her roughly to his chest and started walking toward the TARDIS, and he felt her arms automatically encircling his neck even as her heart thudded in renewed panic. Did she think he was going to make her walk in her condition? Angry with her he might be, but certainly not angry enough to force her to try and limp to the TARDIS medical bay on her own.

The door opened and Nyssa and Adric tumbled outside, voices raised in anxious questions.

The Doctor hoisted Tegan into a more comfortable position and strode past his two young companions. "Yes, we're a bit battered and bruised but nothing a stint in the medical bay can't take care of. I promise, all questions will be answered," he added as he entered the clean white confines of the Console Room. "Later."

Once inside he headed directly for the interior door, pausing only a moment to turn and face the others as they followed him back inside. He focused on Nyssa's worried face as he spoke. "She's turned her ankle, that's all." His expression darkened, as he added in a cold voice: "And she's let the Master escape. I'm sorry, Nyssa. I wasn't able — wasn't  _allowed_ — to stop him."

Then he turned and carried a very subdued Tegan Jovanka to the medical bay.


	13. Let That Be Your Last Battlefield

Nyssa and Adric gaped after the Doctor's retreating form. Tegan was being uncharacteristically quiet, and it clearly wasn't only because of her injuries, at least to Nyssa's eyes.

"What – what do you think happened?" Adric finally asked, sounding as if he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

Nyssa shook her head and turned away, unable to answer.

As she left a confused and uncertain Adric alone in the Console Room, she couldn't stop the conflagration of emotions from burning through her mind in a chaotic whirl. She hadn't told Adric of the Doctor's intentions, that he'd left the TARDIS meaning to kill the Master. Nor had she told him how she'd actively encouraged such an outcome.

She certainly hadn't argued when she'd asked what he intended to do and he'd replied with two simple words.

" _Kill him."_

No, she hadn't argued. Instead, she'd allowed her rage and pain to overcome her to the point where she'd welcomed the idea.

Her father would be appalled.

And yet…

She couldn't simply dismiss her feelings, much as she'd like to. Her father was dead, and the Master had usurped his body and destroyed his mind before destroying that peaceful sanctuary she'd called home for most of her young life.

As her hurried footsteps brought her to her own room, an image of Traken as she'd last seen it drifted across her mind, as clearly as she'd ever seen anything: The garden outside her home, summer flowers in bloom, birds singing in the trees, the velvety green grass…and the Doctor's ghostly figure, his "friend" as she'd thought him then, gesturing for her to join him.

She bowed her head and rested it against the doorframe, unconsciously clenching her fist as she did so. Traken was — had been — a peaceful world, home to a society so tranquil that evil calcified and died within its rarefied atmosphere. And how had she honored the memory of her lost home and father?

By demanding the death of another living being. Never mind that he was evil personified, that he was personally responsible for her world's death and too much destruction for anyone to calculate, even Adric and his considerable mathematical skills. She'd wanted the Master dead, and she felt a wave of nausea pass over her at the memory of her words, how they'd fed the Doctor's obviously less-than-pacifistic new persona.

What had she been thinking?

There was her answer. She hadn't been thinking, she'd been reacting. Reacting to the Master's taunts, to emotional trauma she'd been trying very hard to repress.

Her chest heaved, her throat seemed to close and a flush of heat passed over her body. It wasn't until she reached up and brushed her hand against her cheek that she realized she was crying.

She hadn't allowed herself to fully mourn Traken's demise or her father's death. She'd distracted herself by focusing instead on the not inconsiderable problems facing her friends, terrified of what might happen if she really, truly allowed herself to think about how much she'd lost.

Even if she wasn't quite ready to thank Tegan for stopping the Doctor from murdering the Master, she could at least admit to herself that she was lashing out because it was so much easier to do than to confront the pain behind the anger.

Which made her feel she understood Tegan just a little bit better.

That didn't stop her from hating her for interfering, though. Oh, not a "forever" kind of hate like she harbored for the Master, but certainly a "How could you do this to me" kind of hate that would eventually run its course and die, she knew herself well enough to anticipate that much.

As the tears continued to stream down her face, she slid her hand down and fumbled for the handle, grasping and turning it, pushing the door open and slipping inside. She reached behind her and depressed the locking mechanism before blindly making her way to the oversized armchair in the far corner. She fell into it, curling up in a tight ball, knees to chest, arms wrapped about her chest.

She was going to have to find some way to live with the pain and guilt she was feeling – and the shame and anger that were currently dominating the emotional battlefield she was mired in.

The sound of a hesitant knock on her door caught her attention. She scrubbed her hands across her cheeks as she called out: "Who is it?" She was pleased at the steadiness of her voice, the way she managed to hide her inner conflict or any sign that she was still crying.

"It's me."

Adric. He'd followed her; why? "What is it, Adric? I'm – I'm still rather tired from sharing my blood with the Doctor," she lied. "Why don't you come back later and I'll make us some pasta?"

There was a long moment of silence on the other side of the door, then what sounded very much like a heavy sigh. "Right, sorry. I'm tired too, didn't get much rest on the Master's TARDIS. Sorry to bother you."

Oh, that was unfair, reminding her that he'd been facing his own problems while she struggled with hers. He'd been rescued, she'd given him a look over in the medical bay and assured him – and herself – that he hadn't suffered any major traumas (and that he was, in fact, real); couldn't that be enough?

Chiding herself for selfishness she called out: "Wait!" and rose to her feet, hurrying to the door to unlock and open it. He looked so dejected and lonely her own problems seemed to melt away as she offered her friend a comforting hug.

He seemed a bit uncertain how to take her impulsive gesture, but after a second he relaxed into her embrace enough to return it. "I know it's been terrible for us all since the Doctor regenerated," she said as they pulled apart. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"It's all right," he blurted, then blushed and looked away. "I shouldn't have…I mean, I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty or anything…"

He was absolutely adorable when he got flustered, and Nyssa felt her emotional turmoil subsiding a bit as he continued to stammer out apologies. She silenced him with a finger to his lips. "It's all right. We've all been out of sorts. What did you want to talk about?"

"I just wanted to know why the Doctor sounded like he was apologizing to you when he and Tegan got back." He gazed at her earnestly. "If you don't mind. It just…doesn't make any sense to me. I mean, it sounded like you expected him to…do something…to the Master. Something like…" He fell silent, shrugging his shoulders in a helpless gesture and shifting his eyes to the side.

Nyssa sighed quietly to herself. Of all the times for Adric to start noticing things that normally passed right over his head… "Why don't we get something to eat," she suggested, resigning herself to answering his questions – because he would certainly have more if she answered this first one honestly. Although she was tempted to brush him off, to tell him it was just that the Doctor was worried about Tegan, she'd long since promised herself not to ever lie to her friends, especially if they asked a direct question.

As Adric had just done. She caught his eye, tilting her head in a silent question of her own, and he nodded. She pulled the door shut and started walking down the corridor, heading for his study area. It was their favorite place for private conversations and shared meals, for giggling over the mathematical and medical jokes they picked up and enjoyed sharing with one another.

In short, the ideal location for her to confess that she'd actively wished the Master dead. That she still felt that way, no matter how she tried to remind herself of her peaceful upbringing and serene nature.

**oOo**

Tegan watched through wary eyes as the Doctor, his movements calm and precise, his face an unreadable mask, bandaged her ankle.

His hands were as cool and impersonal as they'd been when he'd used a small handheld device to heal the bruise on her face from where the Master had hit her. He'd been absolutely silent as he healed her bruised and bloodied wrists, although his lips had tightened in what might have been an expression of restrained fury at the sight of how torn up they'd become as a result of her struggles against the archaic restraints.

In fact, he hadn't said a single word since flinging those stinging accusations at her in the guise of explaining to Nyssa that the Master still lived.

No, not explaining;  _apologizing_. He'd made it sound like Nyssa was the one who wanted the Master dead, which seemed utterly impossible to Tegan. Yes, she'd only known these people for less than a week, but of all of them she thought she'd had a line on Nyssa's personality.

Screaming for vengeance hadn't seemed a likely part of the other woman's repertoire.

The Doctor finished taping her ankle and started to walk out of the medical bay, still without speaking to her, his own wounds untreated and giving no indication that he planned to relieve the mutual physical discomfort his need for blood was causing them.

Punishing her, was he? Fine. Let him suffer as well. Brat.

As he reached for his jacket, which he'd discarded soon after depositing her on the narrow examination table, she finally broke the tense silence between them. "You know I was right. You're just angry…"

He whirled to face her, and she fell silent as she saw that angry wasn't the word. Furious was more like it. An exercise from grammar class drifted into her mind: The Doctor is to angry as blank is to blank.

As a breeze is to a hurricane.

As a candle is to a forest fire.

As a ripple in a pond is to a fucking tsunami.

"You still know I'm right," she tried again as she cautiously swung her legs over the side of the bed and braced herself to hop off and try standing on her feet. She couldn't just let this lie, not if he was this upset with her.  _Besides,_  she thought as what the Master had so spitefully revealed to her about the Doctor's past flashed through her mind,  _I've every right to be angry with him, too._

He'd deliberately left his home planet knowing that the corruption the vampire king had introduced into the Time Lord genes was in his own family. That it could happen to him just as easily as it could happen to any other Time Lord.

Any desire to try and make him see reason flew out the window as she remembered how devastated that revelation had made her feel. Especially once he opened his mouth to offer a cutting remark. "Angry. Yes. I'm angry. How good of you to notice something besides yourself for a change."

"I didn't do anything wrong! You nearly committed murder!" she shouted, cheeks flushing as her own anger surged at his unjust accusation. She hadn't stopped him out of selfishness, she'd stopped him to keep him from doing something she felt, deep inside herself, to be utterly wrong. Wrong in a moral sense but more importantly, wrong for the Doctor to do. "You were completely out of control!"

**oOo**

The Doctor stared at Tegan as the words poured out of her; how dare she accuse him when she was the one clearly in the wrong? Why couldn't she just accept that there were going to be things about this regeneration that she wasn't going to like? That  _neither_  of them were going to like?

Things like his temper, which certainly wasn't improving as she continued to argue with him. "I was never out of control," he found himself retorting, even though part of his mind knew that, yes, that was exactly what had happened. "Tegan, I've already apologized for getting you into this mess. I'm not doing so again. Ever." He glared at her, knowing his eyes must be positively glowing red as his temper continued to simmer. "There are things you will never understand about Time Lords, and you're just going to have to get used to that."

"It's not things about Time Lords I'm worried about," she said, glaring right back at him. "It's things about  _you_! Not telling me about your great Uncle being a vampire isn't the same…as…as…not telling me where your planet's secret weapons factories are located!"

She had a point but he was in no mood to cede her anything at the moment. "It's ancient history," he growled. "The chances of this happening to me were the same as any for other Time Lord!"

"But you aren't 'any other Time Lord,'" she retorted. "You're a Time Lord who left his home planet to go wandering round the Universe with a troop of followers… _and you didn't bother to warn any of us what could_   _happen_!"

"Be fair, Tegan!" he said, stung by her all-too-true accusation into defending himself when all he wanted to do was turn his back on her and find someplace quiet where he could calm down and rein in what was little was left of his self-control. "There was hardly time after you stumbled into my TARDIS to tell you anything…"

"Yeah, but you brought Adric back from E-Space with you, you and that Time Lady, what's-her-name, Romana — which means  _she_  left your home planet knowing what could happen as well!" Her face twisted into a disgusted grimace. "Is everyone from Gallifrey so selfish? I know the Master doesn't give a fig about anyone but himself, but I thought you were different!"

He stared at her, stunned; how dare this…this… _Earthling_ …presume to judge him? "The Master fled Gallifrey in order to wreak as much havoc on the Universe as he could," he said through clenched teeth. Deliberately showing his fangs in what he suspected would be a useless attempt to intimidate Tegan into backing down. "I left to explore, and Romana was sent by the White Guardian to help search for the Key to Time." And no, he wasn't explaining that to her right now. "The Master leaves nothing but death and destruction in his wake…"

"And isn't that what you were about to do?" she cut in. He took a half-step toward her, flexing his hands as he fought the urge to throttle her, but she stood her ground — although he could hear her heartbeat increasing, could practically smell the fear she was so desperate to cover up beneath her anger. And the scent of her blood, so intoxicating even when still buried beneath the thin layer of epidermis…

Later he blamed that distracting combination and his hurt pride at being compared to his worst enemy for his snappish response to her accusation, the way he allowed a conversation he'd already determined to end to continue instead. "Tegan, I don't have to justify myself to you or anyone else. No matter what you think, the Master and I are nothing alike."

They were standing toe-to-toe now, wearing matching glares. "You're right; he doesn't pretend to be better than he really is," Tegan hissed.

"Nor is he a narrow-minded bigot," he shot back, instantly wishing he could unsay the words as Tegan's face reddened in increased fury.

"Who are you calling narrow-minded?" she shrilled. "Don't act like I don't have a right to be upset, because I do and you know it!" She jabbed a finger into his chest. "This is all  _your_  fault. You left your home planet knowing what could happen, gambling that it wouldn't happen to you, and now you've lost your shirt but  _I'm_  the one paying the price! My whole life has been wiped away, I can never go home, get married, have children, I'm shackled to you forever and I had absolutely no choice in the matter!"

He tried to tamp down on his own mounting anger, reminding himself that she was absolutely right…but so was he, or so he tried to convince himself. "Tegan, even if one person in a family goes mad, it doesn't mean anyone else will! Telling me I should have stayed on Gallifrey because there was a slim —  _extremely_  slim — chance of regenerating into a vampire is like telling someone they should check themselves into a madhouse just because their Great-Aunt Matilda believes her cat is giving her instructions from God!"

"At least Great-Aunt Matilda's cat can't change her owner's body into a living blood bank!" she shot back furiously.

Enough. Control slipped and rage translated into action…although it was action he neither contemplated nor anticipated. He found himself seizing her by the arms and pulling her to him, lowering his head to deliver a punishing kiss, crushing his lips against hers, demanding entry with his tongue — and receiving it, too. She infuriated him beyond reason, beyond control — infuriated him and roused his passions like no other woman ever had. She was driving him mad, deliberately provoking him even though she knew how precarious her situation was, how volatile his emotions had become since regenerating, and he couldn't stand it a single second longer.

She stiffened when he slashed his mouth against hers, started to twist in his hold as if seeking escape, then suddenly melted into his embrace as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. Again, she resisted only for a split second before allowing him entry, surrendering to him exactly as he'd known she would, since even a blind man could see she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He deepened the kiss as his hands wandered in opposite directions up and down her back. Her own hands were clenched tightly onto his shoulders, fingers digging in desperately as she molded her body against his.

Surely she could feel exactly how much he wanted her, as if the kiss wasn't enough of a clue. The way his heated shaft was straining against the prison of his trousers, pressing insistently against her belly, wasn't something either one of them could possibly ignore or misconstrue, or the way his one hand had wandered down to cup her bum in order to press her even more tightly against his body while the other was cradling the nape of her neck.

He needed more, more than the kiss; there was a primeval longing deep within his body, not just to press his cock deep inside her, but another need as well, just as insistent, just as impossible to ignore. It drove him to pull his mouth away from hers, to press feverish kisses along her neck, as vampire instinct took over and his fangs elongated into feeding mode. Feeling her pulse quicken, hearing her labored breathing, the moans she wasn't bothering to suppress, instinct and passion drove him to bite her, to take her blood into himself the way he wanted to plunge himself into her, man to woman, the way he wanted to throw her on the floor and drive into her until she screamed his name in surrender…

He released her so abruptly she staggered, his fangs retracting and hands fisting at his sides as the ferocity of his desires had the contrary effect of bringing him back to his senses. He was shaking as he stared at her for a long moment before turning and leaving without another word, still fighting that primitive part of himself that had been awakened, terrified by how close he'd come to losing complete control and forcing himself on Tegan.

No matter how much she wanted him — and he knew she did, that she ached for him as much as he did for her — if he gave in to his lust, especially coming as it did hard on the heels of his fury, then he would have finally crossed the last line he'd drawn in the mental sand.

He couldn't control his hunger.

He couldn't control his increased need for sleep.

But he could – and would, damn it, even if it killed him – control this much.

No matter how much he wanted to give in. No matter how much  _Tegan_  wanted him to give in.

So he did the only sensible thing a man in his position could do: he fled.

**oOo**

Tegan stared, wide-eyed and trembling, as the Doctor turned and ran out of the medical bay, slamming the door closed after him. Her knees felt like jelly in the aftermath of that soul-shattering kiss and everything that followed, and she found herself sliding down the wall and sinking to the floor as she tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

She raised shaking fingers to her neck, prodding delicately at the twin holes he'd opened up when he sank his fangs into her. Why, why had he bitten her…

_You know why_ , part of her mind snapped.  _Arouse the man, arouse the vampire. And aroused vampires_ bite _._

Even though, yes, he needed blood to heal his injured head, and yes, her own body had started to produce that extra blood for him, neither of those reasons had been why he'd bitten her.

He'd bitten her out of pure desire. And it felt…incredible. Even better than when he was taking her blood simply for nourishment, which had her trembling on the brink of orgasm every. Single. Time.

That shook her almost as much as their kiss. Almost as much as the urgent need she'd felt when he'd taken her into his arms and pressed his body against hers, his heated shaft so clearly ready to take things to the next level…

And then he'd just…stopped. Not because he didn't want her; no, there was no way she could fool herself into believing that ever again.

Then why? Was it just his normal, reticent Time Lord nature asserting itself?  _Mustn't lose control, mustn't consort with lesser creatures or lower oneself to base Human nature,_  the insecure part of her mind sneered, but she shook it off. That was the Master's way of looking at her, at the others who traveled with the Doctor and weren't Time Lords. If the Doctor felt that kind of superiority, he wouldn't bother with them at all. It was just her own mind offering up defenses in the face of such overwhelming evidence that yes, someone wanted her very badly — but wasn't willing to just take what he wanted without asking.

She pondered that idea as she continued to sit, huddled into herself, on the cold medical bay floor. Was he waiting for some kind of sign from her that it was all right to continue, to take things to the next level? Because frankly she thought she'd been giving out very clear signals by kissing him back and wrapping herself around him as if trying to merge them into one being. If her body language wasn't screaming  _"Take me now!"_  then she'd like to know what it  _had_  been saying.

The answer, she suspected, was in the look on his face before he turned and left: half horrified disgust at his own lack of control, half frustrated need. He wanted her, he knew she wanted him, but he wasn't used to his body being in charge of his intellect, wasn't used to losing control like this. So yes, Time Lord reticence, to a degree, but mostly him wanting very badly to be the one dictating to his body and not the other way round.

Then, of course, there was the fact that they'd been arguing when this all came about. She'd lobbed some pretty serious accusations his way, which he'd attempted to dodge; suppose he just didn't want to win the fight by essentially overpowering her and forcing her to cede him her body when she obviously had no intention of ceding her stance on his criminally irresponsible behavior?

Of course, it was quite difficult to dredge up that self-righteous anger now that he'd turned her knees to jelly and her brain to mush — incidentally soaking her knickers like no other man ever had in the process.

She dropped her whirling head into her hands. She'd known this man for less than a week by her reckoning, no matter how much back-and-forthing they'd done through time and space. They'd spent a great deal of that time fighting or bickering or arguing, and a lesser amount of time trying to get along. In between "sharing meals," of course.

But she realized one thing: no matter how angry at him she became, how angry at him she'd been since returning from the Master's TARDIS, she wanted him more desperately than ever before.

And if he was truly waiting for her to give the word, then by God she would find a way to do so that couldn't possibly be misunderstood or ignored. She pushed herself up from the floor and padded barefoot out of the medical bay, an expression of grim determination on her face.

_No one_  kissed her like that and just walked away.

Not even the Doctor.


	14. The Conscience of the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter. I hope you've enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The Doctor paced the Console Room, hands shoved deep into pockets.

Thinking.

He'd ended up here after his row with Tegan, but not directly. He'd been so furious – not to mention aroused – that he feared contact with either of the other two passengers would be…not dangerous, certainly not for them, but certainly awkward. Yes, they deserved to know how he and Tegan had escaped from the Master's clutches, but not until he was calm enough to tell them without losing his temper all over again.

And had lost the erection his body didn't seem to want to let go of.

In short, until he'd got himself thoroughly under control.

It had taken hours of prowling about the TARDIS storage levels, stalking in and out of rooms he hadn't visited in decades, before he felt able to make his way back to the upper levels of his ship. Perhaps fortunately, his hard-won control hadn't been put to the test on the way back; he'd seen no one — not Nyssa, not Adric, not even Tegan, whom he'd half-expected to come hunting him down to give him another piece of her mind after he'd essentially assaulted her and then run off.

And now here he was in the empty Console Room. Pacing and thinking, now that his head was clear enough to do so, although he wished he could force his thoughts onto a different path than the one they eventually settled upon.

He couldn't stop thinking about Tegan's accusations.

Her well-founded accusations.

It was all true; he'd left Gallifrey when he was young enough to convince himself that nothing untoward could possibly happen to him, that he'd never have to face regeneration or any possible negative repercussions since he'd originally intended to return before it ever came to that. But one thing led to another, as it always did, and in consequence he was now on his fifth life and hadn't seriously entertained the idea of returning home since long before Susan had joined his first self in exploring the Universe.

He'd been burying his head in the sand, to borrow a quaint Earth expression.

No, worse than that. He'd been lying to himself. Yes, Gallifrey was stultifying, destroying his spirit, wearing it down, but was that enough of an excuse to expose those he considered friends to the possibility of…well, of what had happened to him?

Of what had happened to Tegan?

Taking the long view, he could easily argue that even in light of his current circumstances, when he'd run from Gallifrey to explore the Universe he'd been absolutely right to do so, that he'd been no more a danger to anyone than any other Time Lord. Except the Master. Or Omega. Or the Rani…. no, don't go there. Don't compare yourself to the brutal exceptions to Time Lord self-restraint and repression; compare yourself to the norm.

The chances of turning into a vampire, as he'd told Tegan, were infinitesimal, the same for him as for any other living Time Lord. Even though the last known sanguiferous — no, stop hiding behind the technical phrasing, call it what it really is —  _Blood_  Regeneration had been to an indirect ancestor of his, that meant nothing. The odds were still the same.

But still…he had played those odds, no matter how much they seemed in his favor, and as Tegan had so bluntly pointed out, he'd lost.

He'd lost, and she was paying the price.

Even though he still didn't consider himself a danger to his companions, even though Tegan had been unfortunate enough to get caught up in his regeneration and thus turned into his Sanguinaria against her will, he wasn't willing to go so far as to agree that he and his fellow Time Lords had no right leaving Gallifrey with such a taint in their collective genome.

She did, however, have the right to fault him, personally, for not warning them to keep more of a physical distance from him when he did regenerate. He'd taken the time to tell them the moment had been prepared for, then neglected to offer up even the vaguest warning that might have prevented Tegan's unintended transformation.

That much blame, he conceded, was on his shoulders.

As the Doctor circled the console one last time, he found himself trailing his fingers along its edge, once again unconsciously mimicking Tegan's movements from their mental union.

He exclaimed aloud in annoyance; how could he have forgotten there was yet another aspect to their situation that he hadn't explained to her, this emotional bond they now shared? He reached up and rubbed his fingers against his temples in frustration; she was already furious with him – although his anger at her actions on the Master's TARDIS had abated, he very much doubted hers had. She'd started to become resigned to her situation and the Master's revelation had needlessly stirred things up; how much worse would she react when he told her he could sense her feelings?

"Right," he said aloud, straightening his shoulders and facing the interior door. Time to beard the lion, to borrow an ancient phrase…one that he himself had actually introduced, come to think of it. His first self had had a rather eloquent way with words at times.

Tegan needed to know this last piece of information he'd been keeping to himself, and she needed to hear him admit something that he rarely did: that he'd been wrong, that if he'd explained the possibility of a Blood Regeneration happening, then yes, she might possibly have been spared her current condition.

Worst of all, he would have to admit that she was at least partially right. And oh, wouldn't she just  _love_  that.

**oOo**

Tegan expected the Doctor to shut himself into his quarters until he got himself back under control, so it was the first place she went to hunt him down. When she didn't find him there, she'd searched the public areas of the TARDIS, including the Console Room, the creepy cloister room, and a few of the various libraries. No luck.

She did, however, find Adric and Nyssa sharing a quiet meal in Adric's study area.

They'd been surprised to see her. "We thought you and the Doctor were having a row," Adric said through a mouthful of something pasta-like.

Nyssa nudged him and gave him an exasperated look, to which he responded with a pair of lowered eyebrows and an expression that clearly said "What? What did I say?"

"We were, but it's over now," she replied, keeping her tone light. "I just need to…talk to him about something else." Some devil made her add: "Something that sort of…came up…while we were fighting."

She bit her lip to hold back a giggle as the others stared at her uncomprehendingly. Maybe one day she'd share the joke. When they were a bit older, perhaps. What had come over her, dropping an innuendo on two pairs of innocent ears like that?

Then again, they were sitting awfully close together, sharing an armchair that wasn't quite long enough to be considered a davenport. They were teenagers, after all; who knew what they were getting up to on the sly?

She easily dismissed the temptation to speculate about the nature of Nyssa and Adric's relationship; she had her own, overly-complicated relationship to work on just now.

And some explanations might be due as well… "Did you see him, the Doctor? Has he been by?"

Adric shook his head. "Not yet." He slanted a look at Nyssa, one Tegan found impossible to interpret. "Do you mind telling us what happened after the Doctor made me leave?"

His look turned uncomfortable, possibly even a shade guilty; Tegan had no difficulty interpreting that, having worn it herself a great many times. Especially recently. She sighed and took the chair opposite theirs, reaching for a piece of what looked like garlic bread as she did so, then pulling her hand back as her memory prodded her. Weren't vampires supposed to be allergic to garlic or something? She wanted to attract the Doctor, not drive him further away than he'd already run. "The Master poisoned the Doctor with silver." Her hand strayed to her neck, brushing the red marks from his bites, and she shivered in a combination of uncomfortable memory and unsatisfied desire.

Hoping the others hadn't noticed her reaction, she launched into an explanation of how the Doctor's poisoning had come about, how the Master had never revealed what exactly he wanted the Doctor to do – besides, Adric interjected wryly,  _suffer_  – and how the Doctor had attacked the Master once he'd been restored to a semblance of health by drinking Tegan's blood.

She blushed as she recounted that part; she hadn't been his Sanguinaria, his Blood Giver, for long enough for her to feel comfortable talking about it yet. Maybe she never would reach that level of comfort, especially considering how…stimulating…a process it was for her – and as she'd so recently discovered, for the Doctor as well.

That thought brought her stumbling to a halt as she felt a blush spreading over her cheeks. "Anyway," she stammered, "after that things got a little crazy. The Doctor tried to kill the Master…"

"And you stopped him, he said as much," Nyssa interrupted. Her own cheeks had gotten a bit flushed and her eyes were bright with some emotion Tegan very much wanted to pretend wasn't anger. "Why? Why did you do that? You of all people know what a monster he is, that he needed to be stopped…"

"Yes,  _stopped_ ," Tegan agreed, heavily emphasizing the word. "Not murdered." She used the word deliberately, hoping to shock Nyssa's growing temper right out of her.

It appeared to work; Nyssa's mouth opened and then snapped shut, her expression turning a shade less belligerent than it had been. Tegan didn't miss the fact that Adric had quietly taken her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, but seemed content to let the two women hash it out.

"Nyssa, I know the Master's a monster," Tegan continued quietly. "Believe me, if I'd been able to get free from those blasted manacles, I'd have tried to kill him myself. But what the Doctor did…" She fell silent, groping for the right words to explain to them how she'd felt, how she still felt, about the Doctor killing the Master in what amounted to cold blood. "He could easily have incapacitated him," she finally said, gazing down at her hands. "He's so much stronger, so much faster now than he was, that all he needed to do was slap the weapon out of the Master's hands and knock him out. Then we could have tied him up or stuck him in that energy web he used on you, Adric."

She glanced at him with a small grin, encouraged to see him return it. Her conscience prodding her, she asked: "I'm sorry, I've been so caught up in, well everything - how are you? Will you be all right?"

His smile broadened as he nodded. "Nyssa checked me out in the medical bay. No lasting effects. And it did give me a chance to learn what I'd used on Logopolis…although I don't think I'd like that kind of 'opportunity' again."

Nyssa managed a smile for that one before she turned back to Tegan. "I understand," she said. "At least, I think I do. You didn't want the Doctor to commit deliberate murder."

"Yeah, that about sums it up," Tegan agreed with a rueful sigh. "I know you hate the Master, that you have every right to hate him, even more than I do, but…I just think it would have been wrong. If he died in a struggle or when he was about to kill someone else, that would be different. I mean, yes, he had a gun – or a something, a weapon, anyway – but the Doctor took him down so easily it was clearly never the threat he thought it was."

She turned pensive as she saw what she perceived to be a lingering doubt in Nyssa's expressive eyes. "Look, maybe it was wrong of me to knock the Doctor out…"

"You knocked the Doctor out?" "You hit the Doctor?" Nyssa and Adric exclaimed at the same time, she in horror, he with a distinctly amused twinkle in his eye.

Tegan nodded, shamefaced. "Yeah, but I've already told you why. And then I wasn't really thinking straight after that or I'd have tied the Master up straightaway instead of wasting time dragging the Doctor off the TARDIS."

She quickly finished the narrative of "Tegan Jovanka Makes A Complete Cock-Up of Saving The Doctor From Himself" and fell silent, gnawing absently on her thumbnail as she waited for one of the others to say something.

"Well, at least the Master knows better than to underestimate you in the future," Adric finally pronounced with an admiring grin. "And the Doctor's probably gained a bit of respect for you as well."

Nyssa simply nodded. Although she'd released Adric's hand as Tegan spoke, it still rested quite close to his on the seat cushion. Tegan took that as her signal to leave the two of them alone and rose to her feet. "Well, that's about it. I'm sorry I've let the Master run off again, because that means he'll be back to bother us sooner or later, but I'm not sorry I stopped the Doctor killing him." Her face settled into a determined expression. "And the sooner he understands that, the better. I think I'll just have another look round for him; he can't hide from me forever."

With those ominous words, she turned and left the other two to their devices.

**oOo**

Nyssa and Adric watched as Tegan strode off, Adric absently stuffing the last bite of pasta into his mouth and chewing. "She certainly took off in a hurry," he said, his mouth still half-full.

Nyssa made a face; who had taught him — or rather,  _not_  taught him — table manners? "Tegan's not one to let things go," was all she said, restraining herself from a lecture on not speaking when one's mouth was full.

"She was right, you know."

Nyssa, who had reached down to take a piece of the buttered garlic bread, turned to him with a wary expression. "About what?" she asked, although she had an uncomfortable feeling she already knew what he would say.

He didn't disappoint her as he placed his empty dish on the low table facing their chair. "About the Doctor. About him not murdering the Master. You know she's right, too."

Nyssa sighed and leaned back, resting her head on the curve where the arm and back of the chair met. "I know," she said after a minute, her hands clasped in her lap. "It's just…the Master, he really is a monster."

Without looking at her, Adric reached out and gently pried her fingers apart, taking one of her hands in his and squeezing it sympathetically. "I know," he said.

**oOo**

The Doctor was on a mission, determined to find Tegan and bring a close to their earlier argument. At least, to the part where she accused him of being lax with other people's lives.

Unfortunately, much to his temper's detriment, he couldn't seem to find her now that he wanted to. Really, it was rather ridiculous; did he need to be so overcome by hunger that his intellect shut down before he could sniff her out as easily as he had in the past?

She wasn't where he'd left her, in the medical bay. Nor was she in her quarters; when she didn't answer his knock, he opened the door for a quick peep. No, not there. The wardrobe room, perhaps, trying on some new clothes? He'd noticed that was her favorite place to go when she was upset and needed comforting. But she wasn't there, either.

Not that he was looking forward to admitting that he'd been wrong; she would no doubt lord it over him ( _Hah! Lording it over the Time Lord!_  some juvenile part of his mind crowed) but he was determined to end this tension between them. The one based on his burying his head in the sand rather than the one that involved burying his head somewhere quite different. In the crook of her neck, perhaps, or, his ever-present and ever-irritating libido whispered, between her legs…

He shook off that insidious voice as best he could, quickening his steps to a brisk walk and hoping his eyes hadn't gone red again. Above all things, he was absolutely determined not to give in on this one aspect of his altered physiology, the way he'd been forced to accede to his need for regular feeding and sleeping. It simply wasn't in his nature to allow base bodily functions to have the upper hand, and sexual desire was the one area where he knew he could impose his will.

It was just taking a bit longer than he'd expected, that was all.

He would explain all that to Tegan, apologize for very nearly taking advantage of her, and hope they could move past it all and settle down into a simple relationship where he occasionally drank her blood (occasionally being at least once every twelve Earth hours at this point) and they otherwise avoided one another when not with Nyssa and Adric, or out on an exploratory expedition to a new planet.

He had it all worked out very neatly, and even though he knew she wanted him, he was convinced she would accept his offer of…of what, exactly? Physical neutrality, that was the phrase he was groping after.

No, not groping after.  _Searching_  for. No need for such suggestive language when he had no intention of allowing his body's needs –  _wants_ ; he didn't  _need_  sex – to continue to dominate his higher functions.

Physical neutrality. She would surely accept that in their relationship. Yes, she wanted him ( _stop telling yourself that, it's patently obvious_ ) but he knew she was also put off by the fact that he was an alien. And a vampire. Even if she allowed herself to give in to temptation — to give in to  _him_ — he knew she'd regret it the instant reason returned, would fret over it and berate him for allowing it to happen…and…and…

Both his feet and his chaotic mental chatter stopped dead as he opened the door to his quarters and saw Tegan lying back on his bed.

Naked.

While he stood there as if rooted, she leaned up on her elbows and regarded him out of half-closed eyes. "Shut the door," she ordered in a husky voice, and his hands automatically obeyed, his feet unsticking themselves from the carpeted floor as he did so.

He was staring, he was staring and he needed…what, exactly, did he need, again? Oh yes. To tell Tegan…something. Something about physical neutrality and her being right and…and…

His mouth had gone dry and his brain had stopped functioning and his fangs were elongating as his eyes drank in the sight of her. His skin was flushed and heated and his feet were moving again, but instead of turning and marching him out of the room, the traitors were bringing him closer to the bed.

Closer to Tegan. Who continued to just…watch him. Smiling seductively, not at all self-conscious in spite of the fact that every inch of her body was exposed to his view.

"You've gone red-eye," she commented, and he supposed he had. No surprise there; strong emotion colored his lenses and tinted his whites, and lust was a very, very strong emotion indeed.

As he approached the foot of the bed, his conscience woke up and told him that this was all well and good, but he'd better just throw the comforter over her and give her that lecture about physical neutrality or they'd both be in big trouble. The kind of trouble one didn't necessarily get out of easily, if at all.

Excellent advice. Someone wiser than he might have actually taken it.

What he did instead was perch on the edge of the bed and continue to regard her, eyes raking her from head to pink nail-varnished toes before settling on her face. "Tegan," he said, his voice nearly as husky as hers had been.

He cleared his throat then fell silent, not quite sure what he wanted to say, or really, if there was anything  _to_  say at this particular moment.

As the silence – and his discomfiture – grew, her smile turned mischievous. "Yes, Doctor?"

Innocent tones, impish smile, seductive body…with a low growl he gave in to what his own body was urgently demanding he do and covered her, not with a blanket but with his own, overheated self. His erection had returned, no surprise there, and he gave up entirely on the idea of controlling his lust and maintaining emotional neutrality or whatever other idiotic lies he'd told himself on the way here.

Instead, he did what his body was insisting he do: he kissed her. Thoroughly. As thoroughly as he'd kissed her whilst arguing with her in the medical bay.

At least their room had a large, comfortable bed for him to indulge himself on — and yes, damn it, it was  _their_  room, he could admit that to himself now that he was being completely honest. He'd never wanted her to leave it, the room or the bed; he had acutely missed her sleeping next to him after only a single shared experience. There was nothing for it; after this she would have to move her things in here, and he would allow no arguments on the subject.

Which was all very high-handed of him, but surely Tegan was used to that by now?

While his mind had been ticking away, his lips and hands had been busy tasting and exploring her lovely form, and she had been making very agreeable noises that indicated her happiness at how things were currently working out between them.

The key word, of course, being  _currently_. His mind insisted on reminding him that at least one of his intentions in seeking her out had been honest: he needed to tell her she'd been right, and he needed to tell her before things went any further.

Right. NOW.

He pulled his mouth away from where it had been exploring a delightful hollow at the base of her throat and pushed himself up on his elbows in order to gaze down on her. "You were right," he said, speaking as distinctly as he could manage with her fingers busily undoing the fastening to his trousers.

"I know," she replied, and yes, there was a great deal of smug satisfaction in her tone as she did so.

"Not about me being in denial when I left Gallifrey," he insisted on adding. Just in case she was unclear as to what he meant. "But about not warning you all when I was regenerating…"

Her arms wrapped themselves around him, pressing him closer to her unclad form and bringing an abrupt halt to his stumbling attempts at speech. "I know," she repeated with a throaty laugh, nibbling his earlobe. "Can we fight about that later? Please?"

She breathed that last word into his ear as her fingers began undoing the buttons on his shirt, tugging it free from the loosened waistband of his trousers. One leg was sliding up and down his in a very distracting manner, and he distinctly felt his intellect throwing up its hands in disgust and stomping off to sulk.

Good, was his last clear thought. Who needed one's mind when one's body had such interesting things to do?

**oOo**

Tegan's heart was pounding as she watched the Doctor approaching. With his preternatural senses, he could probably hear it, that and the blood rushing through her veins, maybe even hear the thoughts rushing through her head.

Not that she had that many, not now; all she could think about now was how. Bloody. Much. She. WANTED. Him.

It wasn't love, she wasn't stupid enough to believe in fairy tales even if she'd been forcibly given to understand the reality of aliens and vampires and time travel. But she was also honest enough to admit that love wasn't entirely out of the picture; she could all-too-easily see herself falling in love with the Doctor. One day. When she'd figured out if she could love him and hate him at the same time.

But until that day, lust would do. This moment seemed inevitable if she looked back on it, from the second she'd been accidentally caught up in his regeneration to her capture by the Master to their ferocious argument a few scant hours earlier. As inevitable as Time itself.

The Doctor was looking at her as if he could devour her whole, and she felt a shiver cross her body at the thought. Then he was wasting time with words, talking to her when all she wanted to do was feel his body against hers, but she unwillingly made herself listen as he admitted she'd been right.

Of course she'd been right; why, of all times, did he feel the need to waste time stating the obvious  _now_? Still, he'd admitted it and the least she could do was offer a gracious agreement. "I know," she said, but the words came out smug instead of gracious, and her lips turned up in a smile as she realized she derived a great deal of satisfaction hearing those words from him.

Not the type of satisfaction she was after, however, and when he kept on talking, she managed only enough patience to let him get out a few words before practically begging him to get his mind on other things. Such as letting her undress him. Which he'd most enthusiastically done, falling silent at last, although she suspected her teeth and lips on his earlobe had more to do with his sudden lack of ability to speak than anything she'd said.

With an inarticulate growl he pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue demanding entry even as she was opening her mouth to allow the kiss to deepen.

She broke her hold only long enough to impatiently push his shirt down his arms, hissing in annoyance when she realized she'd forgotten to undo the cuffs. With another growl he grabbed the sleeves and jerked them free, buttons popping and flying as he tossed it carelessly to the floor.

She busied herself undoing the zip to his trousers, helping to slide them and his silky boxers off, making sure to grab his socks and get the remainder of his clothing as far away from his body as humanly possible — in this case, meaning she yanked them down and bundled them up and tossed them onto the floor at the foot of the bed without caring where they landed or in what condition.

Fair was fair; he'd ruined enough of her own clothing the past few days.

After that it was all lips and tongues and the feel of his body beneath her hands, a jumbled blur with certain moments burning themselves into her memory with the clarity of a flawless diamond:

His tongue gliding over her breasts, flicking her nipples, teasing and taunting, the hiss of mingled pain and pleasure whenever the edge of one his fangs grazed the tips.

His fingers sliding into her welcoming slickness, thrusting into her after a timeless period of rubbing and fondling, his thumb against her clit, nearly bringing her off before stopping with what could only be interpreted as deliberate intent.

The heat of his gaze as she'd lifted her head to try and glare him into continuing what he'd been doing, the way the words of protest died in her throat as he brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked them, one at a time, just as deliberately as he'd touched her and with almost as devastating an effect.

Her head collapsing back onto the pillows as he positioned himself between her legs, nestling his head against the inside of her thigh before flicking his tongue across her entrance, eliciting a strangled moan from her lips and a frantic lift of her hips as she tried to grind against his mouth, to demand more.

The sound of his rasping chuckle as he splayed his fingers against her midsection and pressed her back down onto the bed, taking his bloody fucking time as he licked her slick wetness, tasting her, seeming to ignore her aching need for more pressure, more urgency, just plain MORE, until suddenly he turned with a predatory gleam in his eyes and buried his face between her legs.

He had a wicked tongue, and ooh! who had ever taught him to do  _that_  with it? She heard a high-pitched squeal escape from her lips as her fingers dug into the coverlet, heels sliding a bit against the slippery material, hips bucking beneath the frenzied thrusts of his tongue.

She managed to hang onto control for only as long as it took him to rub his thumb across her clit. The sensation completely unglued her, an urgent shriek tearing itself from her throat as the peak she'd been scrabbling for was reached and surpassed and she found herself on the dizzying slide down the other side.

He gave her no time to contemplate that downward slide, no time to recover, climbing on top of her and pressing her hand to his heated shaft, urging her fingers to close around it, to guide it to the spot they both wanted — needed — it to fill.

She took just a moment for herself, to caress his length before giving in to his silent urging, encircling his thickness with her fingers and widening her legs to allow its head to press against her entrance.

She pulled her hand away and he slammed into her, full force, a surging, powerful thrust that she felt throughout her entire body. Her knees were still pulled up and she left them that way, knowing it gave him just the right angle to penetrate her as fully as he possibly could. She felt another keening moan growing in her throat, gave in to it as she ran her hands up his back to clutch his shoulders.

He lowered his upper body to mold against hers, his lips and tongue and — oh God, yes! — teeth at her throat, licking, kissing…and finally, after an agonizing eternity in which she thought,  _he's not going to do it!_...biting.

Sinking his fangs into her throat, taking her blood into his mouth while continuing the furious pumping of his cock into her welcoming heat.

Exactly as she'd fantasized.

And God, it felt just as good as she'd expected; no, it felt  _better_ , it felt so much fucking  _better_  she thought she was going to lose her mind.

And so, for a while, she did. He grunted and strained against her and she met his every thrust with one of her own, his every sound echoed by her own moans and gasps and eventually the screams she'd felt building in the back of her throat as she reached the brink of a second orgasm.

Reached it, passed it, nearly passed out as it literally shook her body, the most powerful sensation she'd ever experienced, ever, bar none, with his fangs buried in her throat and his cock deep inside her.

Dazed, amazed and thoroughly sated, she felt him reach his own satisfaction moments later, felt him pull his mouth away from her throat with what felt very much like reluctance as he strained against her, spilling his seed inside her, filling her with yet another part of himself.

God, if the make-up sex was always this good, she was going to make sure to pick a great many fights with him in future.

And when he came back to himself enough to notice the smirk on her lips, when he regained enough control of his panting breath to ask her what was so amusing, she merely shook her head and kissed him, deeply, freely, using her hands to coax him into relaxing on top of her now that the urgent need they'd been fighting so long had been met and conquered.

**oOo**

Afterwards, when she lay half-dozing in his arms, her head nestled beneath his chin, his hand tracing lazy patterns across her midsection, he spoke: "We really do need to continue our little…chat…from the medical bay, you know."

"Yeah," she said sleepily as she snuggled herself a little closer, slurring her words just the tiniest bit. "Later, all right?"

She felt his smothered laugh more than heard it, and managed a chuckle of her own. "Fine," he whispered in agreement after dropping a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "We'll fight later."

"Lots of times," she agreed, sinking even closer to sleep with every murmured word.

Fight, make up, make love…oh, the next couple of centuries were going to be absolutely  _grand_.

**Epilogue – Somewhere in Space and Time**

"Well? What do you think? Can you isolate the alien elements? "

The scientist tore his gaze away from the microscope with a great deal of reluctance; the samples he'd been given to analyze were far and away the most fascinating things he'd seen in a long lifetime of experimentation. "It will be difficult, but not impossible, I think. However, if you're seeking a cure, the transmorphic qualities of the alien DNA and the invasive elements make it impossible…"

The dark visaged man who had been hovering by his shoulder raised one black-gloved hand and waved it impatiently. "Bah! A cure? No. I seek replication that will work on this genetic type."

He handed the scientist a clear plas-steel data sheet, waited until it was placed under the scanner's lens and then a few more minutes as the scientist studied the new data at his species' typical speed and accuracy. After an extra spent in carefully reviewing what he'd just learned, he leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers. "Yes, I believe it's possible. But it won't be easy and it certainly won't be…inexpensive."

His client handed him a currency strip, and he felt his eyebrows raising as the other man said: "I trust this will be sufficient?"

"Yes, more than sufficient," he agreed, mentally calculating exactly what he could do with this much currency in his account, even after the expenses for this little genetic alteration were taken into account. "Of course, as an ethical scientist, I am obligated to ask you if you've thought this through, if you're prepared to deal with the consequences of such a radical genetic alteration." He smiled politely to indicate that this was a mere formality, that his protestations of ethical behavior were simply that: protestations, for show. Because no one came to him for help if they were worried about scruples, either his or their own.

The other man responded with an equally polite – and equally cynical – smile of his own. "I can assure you, I've quite made up my mind in this matter. Having witnessed first hand the exponential increase in speed, strength and reflexes…yes, I am quite prepared to deal with the consequences, positive and negative." His smile deepened. "I've always had more of an affinity for the dark than the light."

The scientist nodded, satisfied with his client's response. "Names are not necessary between us, but it would be convenient for me to have something to call you when I contact you. What cognomen would you prefer?"

"Call me…the Master."

**Author's Note:**

> The Great Vampires are canon villains in the Classic Whoniverse, for anyone who didn't know about them. The genetic looms come from the Virgin New Adventures, which continued the adventures of the 7th Doctor, post series. Chapter titles are, indeed, the names of Star Trek: TOS episodes, just for funsies. Regnerating the Doctor as a vampire, however was my idea!


End file.
